


A leap in the dark

by KailynMei



Series: High Hopes [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angry Yuri Plisetsky, Bad Relationship Advice, Happy Ending, Humor, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Panic Attacks, Past Underage Sex, Secret Relationship, Some angst, World Figure Skating Championships, Yuri Plisetsky Swears, yes I did spell Victor as Viktor and Yuuri as Yūri forgive my sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KailynMei/pseuds/KailynMei
Summary: “You really thought I’d out us like that?”There was no anger or disappointment tainting Otabek’s whisper, but it didn’t stop Yuri from shedding a few tears. “I’m sorry, Beka. I just—” He bit his bottom lip and frantically wiped his cheeks. “It’s been so long, and—”Otabek kissed the back of Yuri’s head and tightened his grip around his waist. “I missed you too. I wished I could’ve been there for your birthday. I want to be able to spend more time with you. But I don’t care that no one knows.”Yuri, figure skating prodigy, several times gold medalist and Olympic champion, fears nothing. Except losing his friend, rival and lover Otabek.[#Otayuriadvent]
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: High Hopes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082021
Comments: 48
Kudos: 54
Collections: Otayuriadvent2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the #Otayuriadvent. Check it out on Twitter.
> 
> Thanks to [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae) for beta reading this fic. Any remaining errors are my own because proofreading a non-native English speaker is hard. She did an amazing work! So did the Superfan team (I love you all). Special thanks to [Venom_for_free](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free) for organising that event and herding the cats.
> 
> If you're an expert in figure skating, please, forgive my mistakes, I really did my best.
> 
> This fic use a work skin made by [CodenameCarrot & La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722). It's my first time using a work skin, so if you can't see Yuri and Otabek's messages, PM me.

A cheerful chime tore Yuri from his dreamless sleep. Blinking, he tried to take in his surroundings, but darkness had swallowed the bedroom. Yet, he was sure he wasn’t in his apartment because he couldn’t recognise any of the darker shadows painting forms on the black canvas.

Ah. The Fairmont Queen Elizabeth. Montréal.

As he settled again in the warm nest, something wet and cold brushed his cheek. He recoiled. Ew. His pillow was slightly damp with something that was _certainly not_ his own drool.

Wiping the corner of his lips, he fought back the temptation to lie down again, covers pulled over his head. This bed was too comfortable; it was a sin made of wood and soft fabrics. He must’ve passed out from exhaustion when he’d been hopelessly waiting for a certain notification to pop up on his phone. Despite his ‘nap’, he was still drained and jetlag had almost nothing to do with it.

The flight from Paris to Montréal had been a fucking nightmare, and it wasn’t even because a toddler had devoted all his devilish energy to crying himself to sleep despite his mum’s frantic effort to soothe him. Nope. Yuri had taken his shoes off, pulled his feet up onto the seat, put on his overpriced noise cancelling headphones, turned the volume up, and, victory. The little monster’s hysterical screams couldn’t compete with his punk rock playlist.

Viktor could, though.

Yuri pressed a finger against the space between his eyebrows. There were probably more unsexy creases here now. He aged a lot in those eight long hours. When Viktor hadn’t been busy mouth-fucking Yūri, he had been busy mouth-breathing him.

Why did they have to be seated in the same row? Why couldn’t Viktor retire from coaching already? Why did Yūri have to fly with them when he wouldn’t even skate? Why did they have to show all the poor souls around them how fucking perfect they were to each other? They already lived together, they didn’t need to fly together. They could, like, try to do activities that didn’t involve their husband for once, and if it was possible, both far, far away from Yuri.

Yuri would rather endure countless hours of Georgi and Mila talking about straight couples nonsense than hear another ‘Yurio’ followed by the cursed words of ‘routine’, ‘training’, ‘costume’, ‘choreography’, ‘these seats are too narrow and cramped, you’re lucky you’re smaller than me’, ‘what are you listening to, can I listen too, oh, they’re good, I didn’t know them’, and, finally, ‘Otabek would be a nice addition to our national team, do you think you could convince him to join us?’.

Yuri tried to bribe one of the new girls on the senior team into switching seats, but she was apparently more interested in Georgi being single again than in watching Viktor and Yūri have a tongue fight. _Gross_. How old was Georgi again? Old enough to be a coach too, so too damn old for her.

Coaching. It was an obvious and thus lame occupation for retired figure skaters. Yuri wasn’t going to be a coach. He was more ambitious than that. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to do in the future. If possible, something that would give him enough money to not have to fly in economy with Viktor and Yūri _ever again_.

Yuri rolled onto his back and clenched his phone in his hand.

The stream of his thoughts came to a halt.

His phone. Beka!

He facepalmed with a groan.

Fucking idiot! How dare he fall asleep. Of all times! Forget training early in the morning, that wasn’t as important as not missing Otabek’s arrival.

His heart raced, and he licked his lips, fingers turning white as his grasp tightened around his phone. It must be good news. It had too. He couldn’t wait any more. And if he had notifications from anyone else but Otabek, he was going to yeet the fucking phone across the room. And block Viktor again even if Viktor had nothing to do with it.

Yuri squinted, tears gathering as he fought against the harsh light to decipher their last exchange. And there it was, a new text at the bottom of his screen, the source of the chime that jerked him awake.

Otabek Altin  
  
**Yesterday** 15:10pm  
**Otabek Altin:** And my flight is delayed again...  
**Yura Plisetsky:** why?!  
  
**Yura Plisetsky:** Bekaaaaa???  
  
**Otabek Altin:** I don't know. Don't wait for me.  
**Yura Plisetsky:** omg are you gonna miss practice tomorrow?  
  
**Yura Plisetsky:** beka?  
  
**Yura Plisetsky:** it's been three hours, are you on the plane now?  
  
**Yura Plisetsky:** ok travel safely, love you  
  
1:15am  
**Otabek Altin:** room 420

Some would’ve rolled their eyes at Otabek’s terse reply. Some would’ve raised their arms above their head and shouted their joy to the sky because Otabek finally landed against all odds and took the time to type four letters and three numbers. But Yuri chucked his phone on the mattress, jumped on his feet, and made a dash for the door, not even bothering with putting some socks and shoes on or checking if he didn’t look like a disheveled punk with too few hours of sleep. His phone chimed as he closed the door, but he was available for no one, so fuck them whoever they were.

Cold tiles kissed his bare feet. He trotted to the elevator and pushed the button several times until the damn cage finally reached his floor. He walked in, heart pounding as he jammed his finger against the close door button, then hit another one.

He clasped his hands behind his back and shuffled his feet as the lift started moving up. The mirror walls reflected his tired face, dark circles under his eyes, but he tore his gaze away and glowered at the flickering numbers above him.

Otabek wouldn’t care how he looked. Otabek must be as exhausted as him and perhaps even ready to go to bed which … wasn’t an issue at all.

The cage came to a stop with a tremor, and, smirking, Yuri strode out. The long corridor was framed with too many doors for his taste, but urgent steps brought him to Otabek’s room in the matter of seconds.

Yuri knocked and laced his arms around the Kazakh’s waist as soon as he appeared, still wearing his leather jacket, but not for long.

Otabek uttered a surprised gasp when their lips met, and his body tensed as though he was ready to bolt away. However, their soft embrace soon turned into a more hungry kiss.

They stumbled inside, the door was shut, and Yuri was soon shoved back against the wood panel, Otabek’s mouth more rough and demanding over his. Yuri parted his lips but not to complain. It had been four months since Otabek’s birthday, four fucking months of a long distance relationship where the only exciting things happening was occasional sexting and video calls, a poor substitute for the real thing. They barely got a moment alone together during the Grand Prix. So Otabek perhaps smelt a bit like sweat, and his cheeks were perhaps a bit too scratchy as well, but did it matter? Not at all.

Yuri locked a leg around Otabek’s hip and moved his hands to squeeze his jean-clad butt with an appreciative hum. Otabek’s fingers skimmed over his side, found their way under his sweatshirt, and no kiss could’ve been deep enough to muffle Yuri’s delighted moan when Otabek’s warm hands kneaded his flesh just above his hips. A shiver rippled down his spine, his dick twitched, and he rocked his hips, smirking at the thought of eliciting a few moans from his boyfriend too.

Someone politely coughed, but what really popped Yuri’s hot bubble was a sudden high-pitched cry rising from the throat of a second person who couldn’t contain his joy much longer.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I knew it!”

A shard of panic stabbed Yuri’s heart, and his blood froze. Mouth turning dry, he tilted his head to a side and glanced over Otabek’s shoulder. His arousal died as quickly as it did that cursed evening a few years ago when Yakov almost walked in on him jerking off. Locks be blessed. He wouldn’t have survived explaining that, _yes_ , he did use the dorm wifi to watch gay porn while his roommate was visiting his parents.

Panic subsided and sparks flared in his guts. Yuri’s cheeks heated for all the wrong reasons. He hated it. Snapping his eyebrows together, he forced Otabek to move away from him and clenched his shaking fists to his side.

A huge shit-eating grin was plastered on the face of Phichit standing opposite them on the other side of the bedroom, close to the bed. Would it be too much to stride across to him, snatch his fucking phone, and break it under his heel? No. But Yuri wasn’t wearing shoes, so that would stay a dream.

“Oh, please, continue. We need to document this for e-ve-ry-one! So this is Yuri Plisetsky, who should retire because he has won too many gold medals already, and this is Otabek Altin, who has never given up skating despite being built for boxing. We all love them for that, and they are definitely _not_ roommates. Are you planning on getting engaged too and following in Viktor’s and Yūri’s steps for Instagram likes? They say that imitation is the best form of flattery.”

“Wow, that’s mean,” Chris muttered as he hid his face behind his hand and slightly turned away. His shoulders were soon shaking with repressed laughter. Asshole.

Yuri flipped them off both. “It’s still a greater achievement than fucking the rink in every competition like you losers do.”

“Oh, rude!” Phichit didn’t even look remotely offended. “ _I_ don’t fuck the rink, Chris does.”

“And my fans have never complained,” Chris snorted. “Only narrow minded jurys who can’t appreciate male beauty have.”

“Also, I remember a certain free program four years ago … Beka and you got really hot on the rink just to spite Viktor and Yūri. That was cursed, like, ‘I might end in jail tonight’ kind of curse.”

“Don’t call me Beka …” Otabek’s voice was low, slightly vibrating with threats, and Yuri forgot all about ripping Phichit’s tongue off. He was back that night, four months ago, when Otabek punched Chris for him and later kissed Yuri when they were back at the hotel. Bliss.

Phichit had to sass him back to reality. Of course he did. “Anyway, thanks for having us over, _Beka_. It was … entertaining.”

The passionate fire that had grown in Yuri’s lower body was snuffed out, and he glared at Otabek, who creased his eyebrows and eventually stepped back toward the bed. Wise decision. There were no words strong enough to qualify the raw emotions raging inside Yuri, threatening to spurt out.

“Why are they here, _Otabek Altin_?”

Otabek slightly lifted his eyebrows, a small sign betraying his confusion and, perhaps, how hurt he felt to be addressed by his full name. It did make Yuri’s heart sink a little bit, but the tip of his tongue also burned with bitter venom.

“You didn’t read my texts?”

Texts. Right. Yuri pressed his lips in a tight line and clenched his teeth. First Otabek’s room number, which was a massive ‘let’s fuck right now’ signal, _then_ what Yuri assumed had been the important info that he wasn’t alone so maybe there wouldn’t be much fucking happening until the two others fucked off. Why do things in the correct order, hm? Yes, _why_?

Yuri dug his nails in his palms and chose to cross his arms before he hurt himself. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone _before_ the off-season,” he hissed in Russian.

As the implied accusation carried by Yuri’s icy tone lingered between them, Otabek averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you were okay with it,” he eventually said, lips curled down, stance rigid.

Before Yuri could ask if Otabek really wanted to blame him for this royal fuck-up, a movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Chris pushed Phichit’s arm down and locked a hand around his wrist. His grin had faded. Shit. Did he get what Yuri had said?

“That’s enough filming for tonight, _chéri_. Tell me you weren’t live streaming this?” Phichit shook his head with a pout. “Great, you won’t upload it either or—”

“Not even on—”

Chris pressed a finger against Phichit’s lips, giving him an unusual serious look. “Or …”

Whatever Chris whispered into Phichit’s ear must’ve been enticing enough for him to stuff his phone into his back pants’ pocket. His cheeks grew a shade darker, and he let Chris lead him toward the door. Yuri stepped aside since murder was illegal, but his glare didn’t lose its strength.

“Don’t be mad at Otabek,” Chris said as he opened the door. “It wasn’t planned or anything.”

“Yeah,” Phichit confirmed in a sigh, gaze avoiding Yuri’s. “Otabek and I ended up on the same flight, and I had him upgrade to first class because I didn’t want to be alone, and Chris waited for me at the airport and drove us both here, and then we wanted to say ‘hi’, that’s all.” He took a brief pause to breathe. “I won’t say anything, I swear. I’ll delete the video.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “You probably won’t, but I will.”

“Oh my god, just fuck off,” Yuri growled between bared teeth.

“Okay.” A teasing smile spread over Chris’s face. “But don’t forget to use condoms, and if you don’t want to suffer during training, stick to blowjobs and—”

Yuri slammed the door to their faces, but the panel wasn’t thick enough to spare him from Chris’s and Phichit’s laughter. His eyes drilled holes through the wood until their giggles faded down the hallway.

When silence descended over the bedroom, Yuri didn’t turn around to face Otabek. His anger had just run away like a coward that was all bark and no bite, leaving him drained, colder than before, and shuddering.

Their first argument since that night … and in front of their peers. What if Otabek asked him to leave? Yuri had waited for hours, days, weeks, months. They both waited. And Yuri had assumed and yelled and … 

Eyes stinging, he hugged himself and sucked in a breath. He needed to pull himself together because … it was all in his mind, a shadow he had to fight. And it was so lame, so _weak_ , to be on the verge of breaking down like this.

Shuffling.

Otabek’s hands hovered over his shoulders, barely brushing them, and Yuri, after swallowing the lump in his throat, nodded weakly. Strong arms wrapped around his trembling shell from behind. Yuri pressed back, leaning against Otabek’s broad chest, and closed his eyes with a small sigh of relief, although fear was still clawing at him and clouding his mind with irrational thoughts.

“You really thought I’d out us like that?”

There was no anger or disappointment tainting Otabek’s whisper, but it didn’t stop Yuri from shedding a few tears. “I’m sorry, Beka. I just—” He bit his bottom lip and frantically wiped his cheeks. “It’s been so long, and—” 

Otabek kissed the back of Yuri’s head and tightened his grip around his waist. “I missed you too. I wished I could’ve been there for your birthday. I want to be able to spend more time with you. But I don’t care that no one knows.”

Yuri rested his hands on Otabek’s, the tips of his fingers rubbing over the Kazakh’s knuckles. Still, it took a minute or two before he stopped shaking, and another before he relaxed into the warmth of his boyfriend’s body, the dark thoughts vanishing.

“Beka … You really need to improve your communication skills.”

“Hm.”

“Thank you for illustrating my point,” Yuri said with a weak chuckle.

Otabek hummed again, obviously teasing him at this point. Yuri wriggled so he could face him and cradle his face with his hands. It was nice to be hugged from behind, but it was nicer to be able to nuzzle Otabek and plant small kisses on his smiling lips.

“Feeling cuddly?” 

“Shut up.”

“Make up your mind.”

Yuri stuck out his tongue before he resumed his kisses. How long would it take before Otabek decided cuddling time was over? Ah, not long. He guided him to the bed, and Yuri ended up sitting on his lap, lazily draped around him. He gazed down, losing himself for a split second in his boyfriend’s hungry eyes, his own body aching, begging for more. But no, not so fast. Otabek was equally responsible for that mess, so if he wanted anything to happen between them, he had to work for it.

“I could sleep like this,” Yuri whispered, feigning a small yawn as he rested his forehead on Otabek’s shoulder.

“Oh, okay, I see …”

Yuri’s satisfied smirk soon turned into a frown when Otabek started pushing him off of his lap. Eyes narrowing, he clung at him and didn’t let go, but Otabek was strong, and Yuri, losing his balance and slipping from Otabek’s thighs, had to lock his legs around his waist.

“What are you doing?” He snapped, eyes blazing.

Otabek leaned back on his hands, and, oh, did Yuri already miss his touch. “You wanted to sleep, so I’m putting you to bed.” He arched an eyebrow. “Unless you want something else from me?” Yuri gritted his teeth. No, he wasn’t going to lose. No fucking way. “Come on, you’re so good with words, Yura.”

On the one hand, Yuri took pride in never begging for sex—he never had too, not with anyone, not even with Otabek. On the other hand, there was no way he could fall asleep without having a good taste of Otabek’s body first. But Otabek was weak, wasn’t he? He proved it just a few minutes ago. That hunger, it couldn’t be satisfied with just a few kisses. Who knew what he would do now that Phichit and Chris weren’t there … 

Yuri made his move, but Otabek clicked his tongue and grabbed his wrists before he could actually reach his goal.

“Going for my dick is not how you ask _politely_ for things. I'm waiting.”

Otabek scowled at him, something dark and almost threatening seeping in his eyes, and, fuck, his insistence was affecting Yuri’s body more than he wished it did. Wearing sweatpants had definitely been his best idea, at least he wasn’t straining against skinny jeans. Teasing Otabek was definitely the worst he had. He couldn’t stifle a needy whine, and his face heated up.

Yuri parted his lips to speak, to say something smug and bold, but words failed him. Fuck. He bit his bottom lip, then cleared his throat in another attempt to keep his mask on, to look cool and in control. He already cried a bit. Blushing was so lame. Katsudon blushed. Phichit did as well. Yuri Plisetsky never blushed—not even when his face was hot like Hell’s fire. And he didn’t _ever beg_. At most, he stated what fantasies crossed his mind in the moment, but only because there wasn’t much you could do in front of a camera lens, so words were crucial.

They didn’t need to do that.

Otabek’s frown became less fierce and more worried, which jolted Yuri’s out of his thoughts. No way! He wasn’t going to be tucked into bed like a baby!

“Fuck! I want you, Beka. Stop teasing me, _please_!”

Yuri’s tone was more demanding and aggressive than it should, yet the grip on his wrists loosened. Otabek made no attempt to conceal a lopsided grin when Yuri wrapped his arms around his neck while shooting him an icy glare, and Yuri didn’t repress a shiver when Otabek’s hands explored the small of his back and pushed the hem of his sweatshirt up. Yuri didn’t need much more convincing before he helped, sliding the cloth over his head and dropping it onto the floor, where it belonged.

Cool air gnawed at his bare flesh, but Otabek’s strong and slightly rough hands drew a trail of heat wherever they stroked. A hint of nails along his spine had him arch his back and firmly cling to Otabek’s shoulders. Despite having to go their separate ways just a couple of days after getting together, they only needed one night to figure out Yuri was very much into that. Apparently, he was also very much into having his back slammed hard against doors … and very much into Otabek being more dominant with him, although saying ‘please’ burned his tongue a lot.

He peeled off Otabek’s jacket, then his shirt. Muscles rippled under golden skin, a mesmerising sight that stunned Yuri before Otabek’s thumbs brushing over his abs reminded him there was no screen preventing him from touching as much as his heart desired. As he allowed his hands to roam over his boyfriend’s ripped body, Otabek pressed into him, and they soon melted into a messy kiss.

“I should probably be offended that you’re not buying me dinner first,” Yuri panted as their mouths broke apart.

A smirk played across Otabek’s face, but it was his words and the caress of his palm over Yuri’s cheek that caused heat to flood his face again. “Well, I _really_ missed you.”

Yuri took a small breath. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“And I love you.”

Yuri dug his teeth into his bottom lip but eventually relented. He shouldn’t let his pride swallow him, especially when his feelings weren’t a secret. “I love you too.”

Otabek’s eyes gleamed the same way they did in Barcelona when Yuri allowed him to become his friend—his very first friend. After all this time, he still wished no one had disturbed them when they were sitting in that café, talking about their hobbies and already so comfortable with each other. Otabek was smiling. Yuri didn’t know him well yet, but there was no doubt in his heart that the Kazakh with the resting bitch face offered his smiles sparingly.

“Beka, are we going to fuck or not?”

A few moments later, Yuri’s back hit the shower wall as Otabek’s mouth took his again, tongue slipping between his parted lips. Hot, steamy water ran down them, but the droplets were barely noticeable compared to Otabek’s hands tracing his muscles again, as though he wanted to memorize all the curves and crevices of Yuri’s body before they had to fly to different countries again. When they grinded against each other, chasing a pleasure they had been craving, Yuri gasped, moaned, clawed at Otabek’s shoulders and dug his fingers into his hair. The walls better be thick because he had no intention of keeping his voice low.

And he didn’t.

The stream made quick work of their mess when ecstasy crashed over them, leaving them panting and clinging to each other.

Without opening his eyes, Yuri hid his face in the crook of Otabek’s neck. His legs were growing weak, but he savoured their wet skin and the way Otabek’s chest still heaved every time he breathed for a little longer.

Yuri tightened his grip and forbidden words almost poured from his lips in the spur of the moment.

_Come to Russia this summer. Let’s practice together. You’ll feel at home, everyone likes you, Viktor thinks you’ll be a great addition to our team._

In Viktor’s and Katsudon’s so perfect world, Otabek would say ‘yes’. But they both made plans already. Different plans. With different coaches. For different national teams. With different goals.

His heart ached.

They had been friends. They were lovers. But on the rink, they would forever be rivals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Worlds:** The championship featured in this fic is loosely based on the real life event 'ISU World Figure Skating Championships® 2020' in Montréal (unfortunately cancelled due to Covid-19). I want to thank [ScribblesInTheMargins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribblesInTheMargins) who found the whole schedule for me and saved my life.
> 
>  **Chéri:** I'm sure most of you guessed it, but it's a term of endearment in French. Litteral translation: 'my dear'. But 'darling' and 'honey' work fine too IMO.
> 
>  **Viktor:** I'm well-aware it's not the official transliteration, so why did I use it? Well, there's a real Viktor Nikiforov, more exactly [Viktor Vassilïevitch Nikiforov](https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viktor_Nikiforov). Besides, we often use 'Viktor' in France for Russian people an my Russian coworker at the university languages library I used to work would always transliterate Ви́ктор as Viktor.
> 
>  **Yūri:** My Japanese teachers would lose their [redacted] if we didn't use a macron (-) to mark a long vowels. And I remember being forced to check all the 120 pages of my second year master thesis just because I'd used ^ instead of a macron.  
> 
> 
> **So, did you like it? What do you think will happen in the next chapter(s)?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae) did an amazing work helping me on this. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. I also want to thank all the persons who helped me brainstorm on that chapter and how to write Viktor.

“So, tell me—”

Yuri turned his music up, drowning the question in a pool of harsh notes, and sipped his smoothie, eyes darting around but never landing on Chris.

What a pain.

He’d chosen a table in the most isolated corner of the buzzing hotel restaurant and gave nasty looks to anyone crazy enough to walk in his general direction, yet the Swiss still brought a chair to sit opposite to him.

Should Yuri regret not sharing breakfast with his national team? Nah. It wouldn’t have deterred Chris, he’d always been unafraid of loud Russian athletes, and it would’ve made things worse for Yuri because then he would have to listen to Viktor too. No one deserved such torture. It could only be topped if you added JJ into the mix. Fortunately, the Canadian wasn’t awake yet or was taking his breakfast in his room or was too busy fucking his wife one last time before practice since she was nowhere to be seen either.

Hm.

Wait a minute! If they had sex, shouldn’t they have their arms full of baby skaters by now? Were they even allowed birth control? Probably not? A couple years ago, JJ chattered during a banquet about how pre-marital sex was wrong and purity right, but Yuri tuned him out and walked away before he puked champagne and appetizers all over the floor. No one needed to hear how boring it was to be in JJ’s shoes, and since the low-key shaming did not sit well with Yuri, he made damn sure he fucked someone at some point that night.

So, JJ was definitely not licking pussy right now. Although … Yuri knitted his brows together. Oh, that would totally explain the lack of tiny Canadian monsters trotting about and crashing face first on a rink. JJ’s oral skills are blessed.

Chris flapped his lips again, which caused Yuri to clench his jaw and shoot a venomous glance at him. Fucking obnoxious bitch. With his luck, the Swiss was probably bombarding him with questions about him and Otabek. In a public space. Great.

Yuri slid his headphones off, letting them rest around his neck, music still blasting. Chris stopped prattling like an excited toddler who just discovered milk came from cows and eggs from chickens, thanks to a field trip to the countryside. Did he really think Yuri was going to speak first now that he succeeded at getting his attention? No way.  _ No fucking way! _

His hands clutched around the cold glass. Droplets rolled down and wetted the tip of his fingers. He intently stared until tears gathered in his eyes. Chris just gazed back, a dreamy expression on his face.

“Why are you even up?” Despite Yuri’s clipped tone, Chris’s smile didn’t falter. It even grew bigger and made his eyes sparkle with joy. Disgusting.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Chris chirped back.

“Whatever.” Yuri slammed his half-emptied glass on the table and propped his chin in his hand with a pout. “Don’t you still have time till practice? I thought they scheduled you later to be nice to you and your arthritic knees,  _ grandad _ .”

Chris chewed on his buttered toast, taking his fucking sweet time before answering. “I’m an early bird.”

“Early bird, my ass,” Yuri growled back.

Chris’s smile turned into a knowing grin as he poked his scrambled eggs with a fork. “Yes, and how is your ass this morning, kitten?”

Yuri squinted, lips curling down. “How is  _ yours _ ?”

“I have no complaints. You?”

Yuri jerked his head in the direction of the restaurant exit. “Why don’t you crawl back in bed with Phichit?” He grumbled. “You could really use more sleep or whatever.” Yuri could too. Jet-lag still clouded his mind. Whatever appetite he had died with Chris’s chatter.

“Phichit could use more sleep, I’m fine. Why don’t you tell me when you and Otabek became an item?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Were you dating him already last year? He was so protective of you …” Chris mused. 

“And are you dating Phichit?” Yuri stretched his legs, threw his head back and stared at the ceiling with a curl on his lips. “No, don’t answer because I don’t give a flying fuck.”

Chris chuckled. “Always so sweet, Yuri! But, no, we’re not really dating.”

Yuri arched an eyebrow and couldn’t stop himself from looking at Chris again. The man’s dumb smile was still there. He didn’t look remotely affected by his own statement. Like, it didn’t hurt him or anything.

Yuri didn’t care about the nature of Chris’s and Phichit’s relationship. Really, he didn’t care _ at all _ . They weren’t dating, good for them. Sex must be their way to cope with stress. Yet, the image of Phichit hugging Chris after Otabek just punched his stupid face came to mind. And many others. Many, many others. They held hands, kissed, had breakfast, lunch or dinner together, and often disappeared for an awful lot of time during banquets only to reappear a bit more disheveled, expensive suits creased, cheeks flushed.

Although they never publicly commented on it when asked, it was a secret to no one. And, wow, did it get wild sometimes when Phichit uploaded pictures of them, pictures innocent enough yet implying a lot if you paid attention, which fans did. And for every supportive one, there were those who were  _ very obviously _ jealous and keen on rejoicing at the first hint of tension in their non-couple, usually blaming Chris because he was older and very much a slut. Some of the threats those people posted online … Yuri shuddered. No. Better not to think about that right now.

God, he was going to regret it but … “You’re  _ not _ dating?”

Chris shrugged, a small mocking smile spreading across his face. “Aw. You haven’t heard of friends with benefits? It’s when you—”

“Oh, come on, Christophe.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “I know what that means, I’m not a child.” Not that Yuri had friends apart from Otabek. He mostly had rivals and strangers with benefits. Kinda the same but without the burden to be nice to them before, during, or after sex. If kicking men out of his bed was an Olympic sport, he’d win gold. “I just don’t get it. You look so—” He furrowed his brows and brought his drink to his lips, “close?” In love.

“We are. But we train in different countries all year long and long-distance relationships … rarely work.”

Yuri almost choked on his smoothie. “Okay. Whatever.”

Because he had to get some food in, Yuri wolfed down a pancake covered in peanut butter while surveying the restaurant with sharp eyes. Viktor cast him a sidelong and somewhat icy glance before resuming his discussion with Georgi. The pair skating women were loudly giggling. Mila was engrossed in her phone. Katsudon strolled in and, having plopped down on a chair just beside his husband, buried his face in Viktor’s shoulder as though he was mourning his pillow already.

And Chris and Phichit weren’t dating  _ at all _ because long-distance relationships  _ rarely worked _ . Fuck them both.

Yuri gritted his teeth and willed his lips to stay shut, but in the end, he couldn’t help it. It was an itch he had to scratch before his heart cracked and bled onto the floor. His fork hit the table with a loud clank.

“You’re such a fucking liar, Chris! I saw Phichit’s pictures on Insta, you spent Valentine—your birthday—together on some ridiculous tropical island with white sand beaches and sky blue water and cocktails and—”

“And that’s why people call it ‘friends with  _ benefits _ ’,” Chris said with a nonchalant shrug. “We enjoy each other’s company. There’s just no commitment and nothing stopping us from seeing someone else whenever we want. No ill-feelings. It’s easier that way, you see?”

No, Yuri didn’t see. He furrowed his brows, losing himself again in his thoughts for a few seconds, his leg bouncing. Chris hadn’t announced it yet, but it was realistically his last skating season. Which meant no more training and thus, more time from now on. Which also meant dating Phichit properly, as he soon explained out loud and, oh my god, he should’ve kept that for himself and chewed on another cardboard-like pancake instead.

Chris scoffed. “Oh, don’t be so eager for my retirement, Yuri. I know winning a medal at Worlds is very unlikely at my age, and I know I won’t be selected for the Olympics anymore, but as long as I can give my fans a good show … You’re not done with me, kitten.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened slightly. “For fuck’s sake, you’re twenty nine, Chris. Remember Plushenko? Be realistic."

“I am.”

Yuri’s leg stilled. They fell silent for a few painful seconds until Yuri could no longer bear the shard of coldness piercing his chest, making his insides numb. “No, you’re being delusional. You’re built like the porn version of a hockey player.” Chris chuckled and opened his mouth, probably to say something smug, but Yuri didn’t allow him. “For how long do you think you can still land those jumps? Do you really want to retire after falling hard on your dumb ass during an international competition? Hurt your spine or something? That’s what you want?”

Chris didn’t look amused anymore. He fixed Yuri dead in the eyes, then let out a sigh and shook his head. “Thanks for your concern, but I’ll be fine. I’m aware of my limits and know how to work around them. But even if I retired from skating now, which I won’t, that wouldn’t change the fact that Phichit and I have busy schedules with very few free slots. I won’t give up my career and my sponsorship deals, he won’t either because he’s still working on making skating popular in Thailand. Not everyone must be as love-struck as Viktor and Yūri. 

“And Otabek and you, why is it even a secret, by the way? I’m sure it’s the least surprising thing that could happen this season. You’ve been close friends since your first senior year.  _ Very _ close friends? I don’t get why you want to wait for the off-season.”

Yuri glowered, hand shaking slightly as he grabbed his fork and shoveled a whole pancake in his mouth. It tasted like shit. And Chris’s linguistic skills were a curse. “So you  _ did _ get that?”

“My Russian is rusty but, yes, I did get that. So, why?”

Yuri chewed on his bottom lip and ignored Chris when he again tried to coax an answer out of him. He didn’t need relationship advice from a guy he saw three or four times a year and who couldn’t even keep his dick in his pants when he wasn’t with his ‘friend with benefits’. Should Otabek cheat on him on the pretense that they were too far away and that he would rather empty his balls in someone than wait … 

His burning eyes fell on Viktor again, who was laughing at something Katsudon said. God. This was a championship, not the ISU best friends skating picnic. They should all be heading for the rink already instead of socialising.  _ He _ should be practicing until he sweated blood from all his pores.

“Yuri?”

“You’re fucking pissing me off.” Yuri stood up so quickly, the table trembled and his chair almost fell back. “You took someone else’s place, someone who probably wanted to win a medal for your country, just so you could dick around in all of the meaning of the term. You put so much low effort in everything you do, it’s fucking disgusting.”

“Well, that imaginary skater wasn’t good enough to be here, so he’s still worse than ‘fucking disgusting’ me … And with that kind of shitty attitude, I don’t see your love story with Otabek going anywhere, you know what I mean?” Chris leaned back in his chair with a dismissive gesture, yet the hardness of his eyes was unmistakable. Contempt. Hatred, even. Emotions Yuri never associated Chris with.

A chill crept down Yuri’s spine. Swallowing hard, he tore his gaze from Chris and stomped across the restaurant to Viktor, who was now showing some sheets of paper to the youngest men skater of their team, probably notes about his program. He ignored Phichit when he almost bumped into him, didn’t bother with answering his greeting, and planted himself in front of Viktor. Hands on his hips and chin jutted, Yuri briefly glared at the other guy, Sasha, a new face he didn’t care about because they weren’t on the same level. Satisfaction curled in his belly when the skater winced, his face turning as white as fresh snow. It quashed his unease, but not his anger, nor his need to show once again that he was better than anyone else—better than Chris.

“Viktor, rink,  _ now _ !” 

Documents still in hand, Viktor raised his head and blinked at him, a look of incredulity crossing his features. “Excuse me?”

“I’m gonna win gold again and surpass my last year’s scores and show everyone that I  _ never _ half-ass things!”

“Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm,” Viktor started with a thin, pained smile, “but it won’t be open for another—”

“I can stretch in the meantime. Hurry up, Viktor! You’re  _ my _ coach now, so don’t you dare let me down  _ again _ !”

Georgi shot Yuri a disapproving glance from the opposite side of their table, and even Katsudon looked like harsh words were about to be unleashed into the wild, but Viktor flashed them a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Yuri again. Though there wasn’t much of a smile on his face anymore, and his eyes were colder than the ice surrounding Yuri’s heart.

“I am not just  _ your _ coach, Yurio, and we will go together  _ as a team _ in twenty minutes. Now go finish your breakfast. You’ve barely eaten and you can’t train on an empty stomach. I also expect you to apologise to Chris. No matter what you said to him or what he said to you. I’m sure you started it. And ignoring Phichit was rude even by your standards. You think I wouldn’t notice? Go now.”

Yuri set his jaw and clenched his fists at his sides, his face slightly warming, a tempting ‘no’ tingling his tongue but resting unspoken because … he was in the wrong. Well, not  _ entirely _ , not as much as Viktor thought he was. Chris taunted him instead of leaving him the fuck alone, the nosy asshole. Yuri may have said harsh things and, yes, Chris’s angry look still made his stomach churn—which was weird because he certainly didn’t care about Chris’s feelings, of course—but he  _ didn’t _ start it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say that without giving the wrong impression, especially after ignoring Phichit and being so demanding. His short temper was too well-known, and he still escalated things when he should’ve told Chris to fuck off because no one wanted to talk with someone that lame.

He was about to suck it up, lower his eyes and nod when a hushed whisper grated his ears. “What a punk, talking to Mister Nikiforov like that. Who does he think he is?”

Yuri glared at the other Russian skaters. It didn’t matter who said it.  _ Someone _ said it. “Fucking win gold several times in a row and fucking become an Olympic gold medalist before you open your fucking mouths again, you fucking useless second-rate dipshits.”

“Yuri Plisetsky!” Viktor pushed his chair back and grabbed Yuri’s upper arm, his eyes boring into his student. “Apologise  _ now _ or I’ll send you back in Russia on the first flight.”

Yuri reached for Viktor’s hand but didn’t really try to pry his fingers open. “What?”

“You’ve heard me. I won’t coach someone who’s mean to their peers and belittles their achievements, nor will I allow you to sabotage our national team and undermine everyone’s morale. We are  _ professionals _ . There isn’t one person in this whole hotel who hasn’t worked as hard as you to be here today. Not one.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even though Viktor hadn’t yelled, he hadn’t bothered with keeping his voice low either.

Yuri’s face grew hot as he became deeply conscious of all the eyes locked on him, not only those of their national team but also those of everyone else present. They were holding their breath, waiting for the outburst of pure rage that would cause his downfall, because, as the journalists loved to repeat over and over again, and not without reason, Yuri Plisetsky was nothing but stubborn and difficult, an angel turned demon.

His cheeks burned, his eyes stung, his throat tightened. He tried to pull his arm out of Viktor’s grip, but Viktor’s long fingers dug into his flesh, his look so sharp and dark it was hard to believe he was the same man constantly whispering sweet nothings to his husband with the most sugary tone. Katsudon threw Yuri an almost pleading glance, something along the line of ‘don’t fuck up your chance of winning gold again’.

Yuri let out a shaking breath and fought back tears of frustration and shame. Each syllable of the following words was a sharp and hot needle thrust into his tongue. “I—I am sorry.”

Viktor could ask him to speak louder, could ask him to look at the other Russian skaters and repeat his words again, to even turn around and say it again to everyone else. He didn’t. He just released Yuri’s arm and sat back, but not without giving him a long and disappointed glance that shattered Yuri’s frozen heart more efficiently than a hammer.

Yuri hurried out of the restaurant and only stopped to drop onto one of the lobby’s comfortable armchairs, except it wasn’t as comfortable as the day before when he was waiting for his room key. He considered calling Otabek, to beg him to come down and hug him tight, and damn the consequences, but when he was welcomed by too many notifications from his social networks, almost half of them from angry losers, he quickly turned his phone off and stuffed it back into his hoodie pocket. Not now.

He almost ruined everything …

Yuri hunched forward in the seat and pressed his forehead in his hands, ignoring everyone walking by until Viktor called him over. They left without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Evgeni Plushenko:** he was an _amazing_ skater who retired at 31 after ... many injuries, surgeries and breaks for recovery. His retirement was also controversial. It happened during Sochi (2014) and some think Russia shouldn't have given their only slot to someone in their thirty and still suffering a lot from previous his injuries ([link 1](https://time.com/7579/plushenko-retirement-sochi-olympics/), [link 2](https://bleacherreport.com/articles/1959430-evgeni-plushenko-makes-a-painful-exit-amid-controversy-at-sochi)).
> 
> **Yuri's insecurities are showing ... and now Chris and Viktor are angry with him? Let's hope he won't ruin the few friendships he has!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today. So have a new chapter.
> 
> Thanks to [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae) for beta reading this chapter and everyone that helped me too.
> 
> [Venom](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free) also gifted me an AMAZING drawing <3 go check it out on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/venom_for_free/status/1343599106258841601?s=19)!

As soon as they arrived at the Bell Centre, Viktor made him not only warm-up and practice his routine and jumps, but also run a few laps around the rink to help him ‘cool off’ and ‘funnel your anger into an healthier activity than antagonising everyone’.

Yuri didn’t argue, even when his stomach painfully reminded him he should’ve finished his peanut butter pancakes to get the necessary energy boost. He didn’t complain, even when his head spun and everything started blurring a bit around the edge. He was tough, he never begged for mercy, so he forced himself to pay attention to his surroundings while navigating around the rink with the grace of a soldier charging the enemy frontlines. Those who hadn’t witnessed the earlier incident probably believed he’s an unstoppable skating machine, which wasn’t far from the truth; he’d do anything Viktor ordered him to because it was how you won gold.

His only true regret was not keeping his thoughts to himself. Chris didn’t deserve to be here, Viktor should focus more on him, and the other Russians were just background actors, as were almost everyone else. He shouldn’t have said it out loud, though, not when his whole career was at stake. They forgave the teenager, but he was an adult now. People had different expectations, one of them that he behaved and shoved all his rage deep into a closet, as Viktor reminded him.

When Yuri almost collided with another skater as exhaustion overcame him, Viktor ordered him off the ice. Yuri would be damned if he admitted feeling weaker on his legs than he should be, but very little got past Viktor when it concerned skating. “I hope you’ve learned many things this morning, including the importance of skating with a full stomach.” Despite the harsh words, Viktor’s eyes had softened and now betrayed deep concern. Of course Yuri hated it.

After slipping on a pair of black sneakers, Yuri headed for the locker room, head so foggy and body so drained, he absentemindly uttered a ‘hey, hi’ when JJ greeted him instead of the usual spiteful ‘fuck off’. JJ had never taken the hint, of course. He always grinned back. In JJ’s world, no one could possibly hate him. And that tired and pathetic ‘hi’, Jesus fucking Christ, did it make JJ beam at him like Yuri just handed him the key to Heaven. Oh. Well. Yuri would restore the balance later.

In the locker room, his Russian peers were nowhere to be seen, and who remained from the rival teams scheduled for that practice session were leaving, bags slung on their shoulders and unkind stares wandering in his direction.

Ignoring them, Yuri crashed on a bench and leaned against the wall, head tilted back. His clothes were sticking to his skin. His hair too. Disgusting. If only Otabek was responsible for it.

“So. Care to tell me what’s on your mind?” Viktor handed him a much needed bottle of water.

Yuri mumbled a ‘thanks’ and took a sip but averted his eyes. He would rather be back on the ice than having a heart-to-heart with someone who would probably not comprehend half of the situation.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m asking as a friend, not as a coach.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Yuri didn’t snap, but his retort still made Viktor narrow his eyes and click his tongue. “I talked with Chris while you were sulking in the lobby.”

Yuri couldn’t repress a shudder. “Yeah? What did he say?”

“That it was his fault, and that it wasn’t his place to tell why. Yurio …”

The nickname made Yuri pull a face, but it was the least of his concern when Viktor suddenly grabbed his chin in one hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Tell me you’re not sleeping with Chris, I’m begging you.”

Yuri pushed Viktor’s hand back and almost bolted to the opposite end of the bench. “Ew, gross! Why are you doing this to me? He is so _old,_ and now I can’t unsee it!”

“Yes, he’s ‘old’, and most importantly, Phichit would gut you.” Viktor straightened up, still looking unconvinced and even worried. “So what’s on your mind? Or _who_?”

“It has nothing to do with skating.”

“It has everything to do with it. Look, I shouldn’t say that, but you’re right, you’ll most likely win gold again. However—” Viktor stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Tsk. Don’t grin like that, I haven’t finished yet.”

Yuri still grinned. “Not ‘most likely’. I’m gonna win gold, period.” Viktor pursed his lips into a thin line and Yuri snapped his brows together. “Hey, that’s a fact!”

“No. For most people, you were flawless earlier, and I can attest that some of your contenders were really disappointed by your resilience. But I know you too well, and you were borderline unfocussed by the end of your choreography. If you don’t trust your coach enough to share your personal problems with him, fine, but leave them outside of the rink because all you’re going to achieve is falling and hurting yourself.”

Yuri lowered his head and chewed on his bottom lip. His knuckles itched with the need to punch a wall or Viktor’s stupid face. Borderline unfocused? He executed each step, each jump, each connecting move without missing a beat.

Viktor snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Yurio, stay with me, please.”

Shit, Viktor was right, maybe he wasn’t as focused as he thought.

Viktor sat beside him on the bench and sighed. “Look, there’s a reason why I didn’t care much about my personal life until I met Yūri. You can accept that sacrifices must be made to be at the top, like I did, _or_ you can work in having a fulfilling, not too dysfunctional personal life and be content to just be a half decent skater like JJ does. But you can _never_ have both. And if you try, you will fail at being a top athlete _and_ fail at being a good partner, accomplishing nothing in the end.”

“Oh, wow. Really, Viktor? _Really_?”

They both glanced up. Yūri was standing at the entrance of the locker room, arms crossed and eyes slightly wide.

Viktor sighed again. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I’m not sure I do … Are you telling him I am the only reason you retired, because you couldn’t manage _both_? Or that we wouldn’t be married or even had much of a relationship if you were younger and still had a fair chance to be among the best?”

Viktor stayed silent, but a small dismissive motion of his hand betrayed his growing irritation. Yūri didn’t relent. His lips screwed up into a darker frown. “So?”

“What do you expect me to say? That our personal lives can’t badly affect our performances? I can’t change the facts. I can’t lie to Yurio, I’m his coach.”

“And you haven’t answered my questions, Viktor. Is a partner only a burden?”

Yūri’s eyes blazed behind his glasses, and Yuri was on his feet, grabbing his bag and storming out of the locker room before he had to hear more. Except he did. It was impossible to ignore the yelling mixing Russian and Japanese, and people in the hallway snapped their heads up. Yuri rushed past them, only slowing down when he was outside. He hailed a taxi so he could get the fuck out of there.

Viktor and Yūri weren’t supposed to fight. They were a perfect match. They weren’t supposed to fight. Just looking at them sickeningly cooing over each other could make your teeth rot. They weren’t supposed to fight. If they did, what did that mean for the rest of the poor mortals? They. Weren’t. Supposed. To. Fight. At. All. Period.

Fuck that. He hated it. 

There wasn’t enough hot water in this hotel to warm his chilled shell, and he collapsed on his bed, dragging the comforter over his head, as soon as he was out of the steamy bathroom. He turned on his phone, immediately checking a few texts Otabek sent while ignoring pretty much everything else. Except something from Viktor that looked like a long apology for lacking sensibility and must’ve been dictated by Katsudon because it ended with a fucking long paragraph on how partners could also help you to achieve greatness, yadi yadi yada.

A hesitant smile still found its way to his lips. Then his heart sank, and he stared at his screen, fingers hovering over it before he actually managed to choke back his anger and type something just a bit passive aggressive.

Otabek Altin  
  
1:15am  
**Otabek Altin:** room 420  
1:17am  
**Otabek Altin:** I can't get rid of Chris and Phichit they don't want to leave  
10:03am  
**Otabek Altin:** Chris told me what happened with Viktor. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?  
11:12am  
**Otabek Altin:** I know we were supposed to have lunch together but the representative of the U.S. Figure Skating International Committee wants to speak with me. I'm sorry Yura. I promise I'll make up for it. I love you.  
**Yuri Plisetsky:** its fine

Yuri lied on his back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, hands on his forehead.

They had to choose, they couldn’t do both. Partners could help, but they were also a burden.

Oh, well. Otabek obviously chose, and Yuri couldn’t be mad at him because, yeah, it was the correct decision. Spending time with his boyfriend at lunch wasn’t. Those American dudes would certainly pay Otabek more than the Kazakhstan national team, and nevermind the fact that it was far more expensive to fly from Russia to the States than it was to fly to Kazakhstan, or that Otabek would’ve to wait twelve months before ISU allowed him to compete for team USA.

Yuri should choose too. Gold complemented his eyes well, so no one else should touch that medal, not even Otabek. Certainly not Otabek. That was the sanest thing to do; his career over everything else while he was still young and healthy. He should stop worrying right the fuck now about breaking up with Otabek for one thousand reasons because who needed love at nineteen? Not him, not Yuri ‘several gold medalist and Olympic champion’ Plisetsky.

… So why did he feel like some hellish demon had just tore his heart out of his chest and set it on fire?

Yuri texted Viktor back, letting him know there would be no afternoon practice because that morning’s session ruined him more than just physically, and for once, Viktor didn’t argue back. Though he still told Yuri he better be perfect for tomorrow’s practice. Fair enough.

His stomach twisted. Yūri had been so pissed off. Would Viktor sleep on the floor tonight? It didn’t feel right.

He ordered a lunch he barely ate, then scrolled aimlessly on his socials. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. There were so many tags, so many DMs, so many _everything_. Videos of his morning practice. Compliments. Encouragements. Dick pics. Boob pics. Insults. Threats. Rumors about his ‘tantrum at breakfast’. Shit. Half of Otabek’s fans seemed to hate him because Yuri was no fairy but all trash, and he was the trash who always stole gold from the fingers of their favourite Kazakh skater. Yet most of them probably couldn’t even place Almaty or Kazakhstan on a map and probably thought that Borat flick was a faithful depiction of the country, which proved they were only interested in the sight of lean muscles and strong jawline glistening with sweat.

Some of his fans weren’t better. He shuddered at the things they published on Otabek. Yuri really tried to stop them. Really, really tried. He tried so much, he ended up crying in front of his computer screen a few years ago because a bit of friendly banter between them in front of the camera blew up in their faces. Otabek still didn’t use social media that much. Yuri did, though.

Swipe down.

People were cruel with teenagers, and crueler with young adults.

Swipe down.

And even with full grown adults.

Swipe down.

They thrived on making them suffer.

Swipe down.

Did they hope one of them killed themselves?

Swipe down.

Yuri rolled his eyes at a picture Phichit took a few minutes ago, and yet, clutched his phone with envy. Even without the name tag, there would’ve been no doubt the hand spoon-feeding him ice cream was Chris’s, and Phichit had the look of a lover who dreamed of wrapping his lips around something more fleshy than cold metal. Thanks, Yuri fucking hated it. He still pressed the heart because he wished it was Otabek and him. He still commented that the ice cream looked tasty. And of course, a stalker with no social life posted a bit later to let him know they weren’t surprised that a Russian whore liked Phichit’s and Chris’s slutty pictures.

It hurt. He needed the hurt. But he still blocked them because assholes didn’t deserve to hurt him more than once. That was the law.

If Otabek and he were to announce right now that they were dating … or even later ...

He turned his phone off again and pressed a palm over his forehead; his neck was stiff, and his temples ached, as though claws were sinking into his flesh.

He couldn’t deal with the consequences of going public with their relationship.

 _They_ couldn’t deal with the consequences.

Not in the middle of the Worlds. Perhaps not ever. There was only a limited amount of stress one could withstand, and Yuri had already crumbled once today, almost lost his coach to his fucking hubris, and most likely lost Chris’s respect for good, so likely Phichit’s too, which weirdly made his stomach twitch. He shouldn’t care.

The mattress dipped. Yuri gasped, eyes flickering open and desorientation overwhelming him. Darkness. A shadow looming over him. Slow breath. Otabek’s cologne. Scent of warm food.

Light dazzled him, and he hid behind his arms with a whine. “Beka!”

“Sorry.”

“How are you even in here?”

“You gave me the spare key.”

“I did?” Oh. Yes, he did. He left it on Otabek’s nightstand before breakfast.

Lips on his scalp. He lowered his arms with a sigh and took in Otabek. How dare his boyfriend be so handsome after that hell of a day. How dare he bring him take-away—pizza, by the smell—and make him question everything Chris and Viktor said about relationships. How dare he make him long even more for what he wasn’t sure he could and should have. 

“How was your meeting?”

Otabek knitted his brows. “Too long.”

Not the answer he expected. Yuri sat up and forced a smile on his lips. “Did you say yes?”

“Not yet. How was practice?”

Yuri sucked in a breath. A ‘yes’ would’ve crushed him, but a ‘not yet’ made his chest tighten and burn. Why didn’t he say ‘no’? Just. ‘No’. ‘No, Yuri, I won’t move to the fucking States again, and this time until I retire. I won’t make everything even harder for us’. He could stay in Almaty. He could … Russia had a lot of competent skaters raised to win gold, but Viktor was right, painfully right; they would be interested because Otabek was outstanding now. And if ISU wouldn’t allow him to compete in The Fourth Continents for Kazakhstan anymore, he would be close at least. So close. If Viktor was willing to be his coach too, they could even be rinkmate.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Otabek’s hand slid through his hair and stopped at the back of his head. A frown creased his boyfriend’s forehead as he gazed into Yuri’s eyes. “We don’t have to talk about practice if you don’t want to. We don’t have to talk at all.”

They should. They should talk about everything, and in particular, how they would manage to be far away from each other most of the off-season, the coming year. They should, but Yuri didn’t want to hear the truth again, that there were very few solutions, that plans had already been made.

Yuri shrugged and slightly rolled his eyes. “I talk too much, that’s all. I was perfect during practice, but … hm … I’m not focused enough according to my grey-haired jerk of a coach. Daydreaming skating isn’t a discipline, can you believe that?” Yuri pinched Otabek’s cheek. “It’s your fault. You’re doing this to me.”

Otabek’s smile was too cocky, and yet, Yuri couldn’t bring himself to summon his anger, for those lips were a sin that made the deadly snake himself coil up and fall asleep. He took a deep breath to keep his blood in his whole body instead of letting it migrate south and gave a glance in the direction of the heavenly smell. Squared boxes. Bingo.

Yuri smirked. “Are you trying to win gold by feeding me pizza?”

Otabek’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Will it work?”

“I’m starving, so yes.”

“Don’t worry, I plan to eat some too so JJ has a fair chance to win gold this time.”

“Shouldn’t we invite Phichit, then? Everyone else, even? What about … what was the name of that French guy again? The one who almost beat JJ last year? And the Korean guy with a husky?” Otabek lifted an eyebrow, and Yuri expected him to say something, but he didn’t. So Yuri kept pretending he wasn’t the kind of skater who obsessively watched his competitors’ performances to best them. “Is your Mexican friend here this year? Hey, is he still dating _Gang Song_?” Could he at least hear about one happy couple stuck in a long-distance relationship? Or just any happy couple.

Otabek shook his head with a low, deep chuckle, which made Yuri question if it was really food he wanted in his mouth. “Hm … I don’t know if Leo is still dating Guang Hong. But, yes, they are here. Yura…” Otabek titled his head, a hint of a smirk flickering at the corner of his lips. “Do you even know the names of those on your team?”

“Nope.”

“Sasha, Andrei.”

“Which one is Sasha, again?” Yuri mused, finger pressed to his lips to hide a smile.

“The one who always looks like he’s about to throw up when you glare at him.”

“Hm …” Yuri shrugged. “But knowing that won’t help me to win gold and your love.”

“You already have my love. And I think you would look great in silver or bronze this year.”

“Ah, fuck you, Beka!”

When Yuri stuck out his tongue, Otabek leaned in for a messy kiss. They would’ve kissed more if Yuri’s stomach didn’t growl like a whiny bitch. He pushed Otabek back with a hand and grabbed the boxes sitting on the edge of the bed. Four cheese pizza. Napolitana pizza. Oh, wait, three boxes? Kebab pizza. Perfect.

“Let’s take pictures for Viktor so he can yell ‘diet’ at me in five or six different languages and have the worst night ever at the thought of me gaining weight.”

Otabek snorted and raised his eyes to the ceiling but still complied. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth all along as they took selfies of them with three different flavors of pizza slices.

They sent a few to Viktor (‘Hey, guess who doesn’t totally suck and brought me comfort food? End of relationship with Viktor, Otabek is my coach now <3’). Yuri posted one on Instagram because he was nothing but petty and wanted to see people flip their shit for a good reason this time (‘Dinner with my best friend @otabek-altin. Who’s gonna eat the most slices and still win gold in World's? Not him.’). They kept a few others for their eyes only because they would really set the internet on fire if they were leaked. Yuri was too tired to suck Otabek’s dick, but he did think about it a lot while kissing him.

“How am I supposed to practice tomorrow morning?” Yuri whined once they were full and both lying on their backs, still breathing but on the verge of dying.

“Yes, that’s unfair. Our challengers probably only have salad or cups of emptiness for dinner if they listen to your coach’s advice. We should’ve set a double date with JJ and Isabella—”

“Beka, no.”

“—also invited over Leo and Guang Hong, Chris and Phichit—”

“Fuck. No!”

“—and asked them to bring spoons and ice cream.”

“I like you better when you don’t speak.”

“I would’ve fed you.”

Yuri let out a small, shaky breath. “Urgh, don’t make it so tempting now.”

“JJ and Bella would’ve admonished us to stay pure till our wedding in white.”

“I swear, I hate you again, Otabek Altin.”

“And you would’ve looked them dead in the eyes and said with the sweetest tone, the one you sometimes use when you’re about to be an extra bitch: ‘but JJ, I lost my purity in a hotel room when I was sixteen and haven’t seen it around since, so—’”

Yuri snorted. “Oh. My. God. I love you. Please, call them, please. Please!”

“Hm.”

“Hm?” Yuri propped himself on his elbows and slightly narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “Beka, please, I don’t speak stern Kazakh.”

Otabek smirked. “That was a lot of ‘please’, Yura. Well, it’s still JJ. He might help you find your purity … in a church and with a Bible.”

Awful.

Yuri rested his chin on his palm and ran his fingers along Otabek’s undercut. As his boyfriend closed his eyes with a small content smile, Yuri leaned down, lips close to Otabek’s ear. So very, very close it caused Otabek to shiver. “Hey … do you think JJ would marry me?”

Otabek’s eyes snapped open, and his sharp, dark glare sent hot sparks through Yuri’s lower body. “I wouldn’t let him.”

Yuri pressed a kiss to Otabek’s jaw. He should shut up. But he didn’t. “Then would _you_ marry me?” The darkness receded. He blinked at Yuri. The dangerous question lingered in the air between them. “It’d be a very tacky Las Vegas wedding,” Yuri quickly added, throat too tight.

Yuri held his breath when Otabek cupped his face, the warmth of his palm seeping into his cheek. “Well, if it’s a very tacky Las Vegas wedding, how could I say no?”

“We could elope now.”

“Hm.” Otabek lowered his lids and traced the curves of Yuri’s mouth with a thumb. “I did rent a bike. Should I kidnap you again?”

Yuri couldn’t tell if Otabek was messing with him or if he meant it. And he didn’t ask, it was too gut-wrenching.

Laying down on his side, he hid his face against Otabek’s bicep, sighing, breathing in the comforting fragrance of the man he loved.

A wedding in Las Vegas. Everyone would gape in horror, except perhaps Viktor. His coach would fucking love that and maybe have a second wedding with Yūri while they are at it. Well, as long as they didn’t flee in the middle of an international competition. As romantic as Viktor was, he wouldn’t forgive Yuri. And Yuri wouldn’t forgive himself because he did want to win and see Otabek on the podium with him too, just a little bit lower.

After a minute or two of strengthening silence, Otabek shifted so he could wrap them in the comforter and pull Yuri into his arms. Bliss. Yuri snuggled up to Otabek, rested his head on his chest, and entwined their legs, toes curling when his boyfriend’s fingers traced circles up and down his spine. Whatever strain Yuri still felt from his training melted into a puddle of pleasure.

There were many things they should discuss instead of drifting into a warm sleep like two carefree idiots, but Yuri still dreaded the answers. This evening was too perfect, and he wished it would never end. No way he was going to tarnish it with the stark reality of their lives.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thanks [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae) again for beta reading this chapter and everyone that helped me too. All remaining errors are my own.
> 
> I was supposed to publish this chapter last week, but I struggled a lot with the writing AND last week was ... rough too. I had to train home due to Covid-19 for a pro FSL exam and I'm not sure it went well. I'll do my best to finish chapter 5 for next week. It's 90% done. But I might delay it.

There weren’t many things Yuri disliked more than the shrill cry of an alarm too damn early in the morning. Although Yakov barging into his dormitory a few years ago, blaring for them to get their lazy teen butts out of bed, could’ve been one of them, even the man’s yelling didn’t quite top that artificial banshee. 

And yet, the only acknowledgement from Yuri was a pout. The horrendous alarm _didn’t_ exist, period. There was no fucking way he’d let himself be wrested from Morpheus's so comfortable arms.

Yuri snuggled up to the warm body next to him, fingers gripping clothes. However, when it stirred, inching toward the offending noise and the edge of the bed, he dreaded cuddling wouldn’t be enough to prevent the tragedy from happening. “Beka, no!”

But Otabek didn’t give up. He even tried to pry Yuri’s fingers open. And while Yuri liked the rough caress of his boyfriend’s hands on the soft skin of his thighs, it wasn’t welcome here.

Yuri cracked an eye open and tightened arms and legs around Otabek in an attempt to entice the strong muscles rippling under him to relax. And if he pinned Otabek to the mattress, if he lazily kissed his throat with smirking lips, if his tented sweatpants brushed Otabek’s hard abs, his erection rubbing against that offered belly, sending hot sparks and tingles of pleasure through their lower bodies—or his, at least—that was not intentional. _Not at all_.

He failed, though. And Otabek almost wriggled out of his grasp. Almost. “Yura, come on.” 

_No, come on, Beka!_ Damn, who wasn’t horny in the morning? Yuri went boneless. He slumped on Otabek, though his boyfriend’s low chuckle didn’t help him to stay in ragdoll mode. Tiny sparks of lust flared through his belly, the searing heat making his poor, trapped dick twitch for more. And that alarm, that fucking annoying alarm was still whining. But it wasn’t even the worst part. The comforter slipped and cool air nibbled on Yuri’s exposed skin. Like a fucking ice cube dropped onto the small of his back.

Yuri muttered an oath against his t-shirt for riding up during his sleep, the traitor. But he didn’t let go of Otabek, not even when his boyfriend managed to sit up against the headboard and grab his phone to turn the alarm off.

A wonderful silence fell over them. Okay, maybe Yuri should’ve allowed him to get his phone earlier. As a reward, he trailed kisses along Otabek’s jawline.

Otabek settled back into the pillows. His hands found their way to the small of Yuri’s back but didn’t press him down into him, nor did they move lower to cup his ass. Instead, they slipped under Yuri’s shirt to rub soothing circles along his spine. The toe-curling warmth of Otabek’s palms seeped into Yuri’s skin, and he rocked back and forth to chase more stimulation. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

Yuri mumbled back a “yes” but still shut his eyes, cheek coming to rest on Otabek’s shoulder. His foggy, cotton-filled brain was craving lazy mornings and late breakfasts in bed.

As Otabek continued to knead his flesh, Yuri’s thoughts began to wander across forbidden territories where skating and competitions weren’t as important as waking up next to his boyfriend every day. Maybe they weren’t even skaters living in different countries. Otabek was probably a DJ, and Yuri—well, Yuri was … was … It didn’t matter. He just wanted to be lazy and fuck, and be lazy and then fuck again. He grinded more, his cock leaking, wetting his sweatpants as too many arousing scenarios flashed through his mind, none of them involving unsatisfying sexting or video calls.

Otabek’s voice tore off the soft veil draped over his fantasies. “Yura, I know you don’t want to miss practice again.” His hands grabbed Yuri’s hips when he growled back, forcing him to still. “Think of that silver medal, how good it’ll look around your neck.”

Yuri glared. “ _Gold_.” The corner of Otabek’s mouth turned up into a smirk that only made his eyes darker, and a shiver of excitement ran down Yuri’s spine. “Besides, practice isn’t until ten, so what’s the hurry?”

Otabek squeezed Yuri’s hips. “Interviews.”

“You’re too damn popular, Otabek Altin.” As he spoke, Yuri sneaked a hand between them. They shouldn’t be wearing clothes, but he was keen to deal with that problem. His fingers played with Otabek’s waistband and moved down toward his zipper. “And what if I do this?”

Otabek gazed at him, face showing his usual distant scowl. If the pressure of Yuri’s fingers did anything for him, it didn’t show. “You smell like morning breath, sweat, and cold pizza.” Yuri pouted, but Otabek didn’t look even remotely guilty. “What about _your_ interviews?”

Yuri clicked his tongue, eyes blazing. He’d rather drink bleach than answer the same inane questions over and over again or listen to Viktor feeding all those scoop vampires with touching stories about this season. “You deserved a gold medal for fastest way to kill a boner,” he grumbled as he pushed up on his hands and sat back on his heels. “I call dibs on the shower, asshole.”

Otabek’s face stayed impassive, so Yuri crawled out of bed and plodded to the bathroom, socks doing a bad job at stopping the cold from gnawing on his feet. He slammed the door shut behind him with such strength, it caused the partition to tremble. Good. Though sadly, his toes hated the bathroom’s tiles more than the bedroom’s parquet. Ice against his bare feet snuffed out the lonely bubble of satisfaction nested inside his chest, leaving him shivering.

Blinking against the harsh electrical light, Yuri chewed on his lips and fiddled with the door lock, but his hand fell back to his side before he succumbed to the petty temptation.

Having stripped out of his clothes, Yuri climbed into the shower. The hot stream helped him to feel a bit more like a functional human being and not like a weary and angry Siberian tiger—though irritation still coiled up around his heart, ready to roar.

Ignoring his softening cock, he threw his head back to massage his scalp. His hair had gotten longer, almost teen Viktor long, which drew more terrible and unflattering comparisons between them. There were moments alone in his apartment where his shaky hands almost reached for a pair of scissors. But if he shortened his hair, journalists would then compare him to the older Viktor, so patient, so polite, so _everything_ … unlike Yuri Plisetsky, who always looked like he couldn’t stand sharing a room with other people. Well, they were wrong. Yuri didn’t dislike people. He just disliked idiots, stans, and ass kissers. It wasn’t his fault if most people were at least one of those.

And no matter how many fucking gold medals he won every year, fuelled by spite and his need to prove his uniqueness, he couldn’t escape Viktor’s shadow. Those so-called sports experts seemed to believe Yuri’s sole purpose was to become an extension of the living legend. To them, his accomplishments were never truly his, they’d been Yakov’s and were now Viktor’s. For fuck’s sake, he was the one sweating on the rink, pushing his body beyond its limits and ignoring when it screamed with pain and exhaustion. It took more than good coaching to be at the top. It took … sacrifice.

Yuri hated that, but he didn’t hate Otabek’s hands rubbing his shoulders and spreading soap over his body, nor did he hate the trail of kisses along the curve of his shoulder or the whispers in his ear asking what he wanted. _Really_ wanted.

There was certainly something Yuri had been craving, and he soon knelt on the shower floor, Otabek’s fingers curling into his hair.

They made sure no one was in the corridor before Otabek left Yuri’s room, but when someone knocked at his door not even two minutes later, Yuri couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat and had to suck in a deep breath to calm his drumming heart. Fuck.

After throwing on a leopard print hoodie that screamed anything but Olympic champion, he cracked the door open and, wow, did his stomach churn. He half-expected Viktor _or_ Georgi _or_ peacekeeper Katsudon, but not Viktor _and_ Katsudon.

Why had he even been worried about them the day before? He should’ve guessed they wouldn’t fight for long. They were so fucking perfect for each other after all, the kind of couple you only see once in a century. Viktor probably spent the night pampering Katsudon, whispering sweet nothings and gazing adoringly into his eyes until his husband forgave him. Then they made _love_ , rainbows exploding all around them as they climaxed.

Yuri’s fingers tingled with the urge to slam another door shut with excessive force, a petty act he’d probably pay for sooner than later since being rude to a coach was the first rule in the ‘no-no’ guideline, as he’d been reminded. So he settled for a scowl and stepped back to let them enter.

Katsudon closed the door behind them and, after stealing a cautious glance at Yuri, stood next to it. Viktor wasn’t that careful and ventured a few steps further in the room, eyes taking in everything.

Yuri crossed his arms. What would the lecture be about this time? The pictures he’d sent? His Insta post and the resulting chaos that pushed him to turn his phone’s network off? The half kilo he might have gained? Why they bumped into Otabek, still wearing the same clothes and hair damped because using a hair dryer was so overrated? _Yes, Viktor, I sucked his cock. And so did you with Katsudon’s, so fuck off._

They stared at each other, Mexican standoff style, for an uncomfortable minute. Viktor was so stiff now, he’d probably pop a stitch and crack his flawless face as soon as he started moving again, and Katsudon’s frown told Yuri he didn’t want to be there. Yuri couldn’t blame him; he didn’t want to either. Eh, they should just get the fuck out of there and lock the silver-haired drama queen inside. Lose the key somewhere too.

Yuri’s attention refocused when the Japanese man shuffled his feet. “So, hm, how are you?”

“Peachy. You?”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head with a sigh, and Yuri glared at him, unfiltered retorts ready to leave his mouth as soon as his coach would start telling him off about … _whatever_. But when Viktor walked over to embrace him closely instead, Yuri’s brain fried and he went limp, a mix of anger and confusion washing over him.

“I’m sorry.” A murmur to his ear. 

Yuri’s heart skipped a beat, his throat tightened. He tried to squirm out of Viktor’s strong grasp before all the air was squashed out of his lungs, but to no avail. Okay, it’d been bold of him to assume the sappy man turned clingy octopus would let go of him so easily. His eyes darted around and stopped on Yūri again. Sweat beading along his back, he pleaded silently for the other man’s help, but the traitor just smiled. A sweet, loving smile. Why? Fuck him.

Yuri was about to dig his fingers into Viktor’s arms when another whisper came. “I’m sorry, _Yurochka_.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped and his hands fell to his side. Viktor rubbed his back. Or patted it. Maybe. Yuri wasn’t sure anymore, numbness was taking over his body. A ‘don’t’ almost escaped him, but his throat refused to let the word run free.

Nikolai called him Yurochka, but he was his _grandfather_ , the man who raised him, who cooked for him, who called the doctor when he was sick, who supported him through all hardships, and made sure he’d never miss training, even when money was an issue. And, yes, Yakov did utter a Yurochka once in a while, but only when Yuri made him particularly proud. Viktor, though …

Viktor fucking called him ‘Yurio’, and it made the ice encircling Yuri’s heart reach temperatures near absolute zero every _fucking_ time. Viktor once broke a promise and stayed in Japan to coach fake-Yuri, while real-Yuri returned to his home rink humiliated and alone, a whole flight spent swallowing back tears and trying to convince himself he didn’t care about this fucker. No matter how successful he was now, there were lonely nights where the memory still made his stomach twist and a nerve along his back throb. He always sat up, cold with sweat and shivering, trying to step back from the edge of a cliff while a hungry wind raged around him.

And yet, there was a comforting warmth blossoming in his chest as Viktor kept his arms looped around him, hugging him so closely.

Somehow, the ice had receded, leaving his heart naked and vulnerable. Perhaps it had months ago when Yakov announced he couldn’t fly abroad with the team anymore. He’d searched for a successor, which should’ve been easy, but many refused because, as talented as Yuri was, they didn’t want to work with ‘a punk with too much attitude’. Assholes.

But Viktor—the Viktor whom Yuri used to look up to during his junior years, the Viktor who abandoned him to train his soon-to-be husband, the Viktor who then left for Japan _again_ the day he and Yūri retired, as though there was no more challenge to conquer— _that_ Viktor moved back to Russia when Yakov called, no questions asked. And what should’ve just been another job for Viktor, nothing more, soon turned into invitations to dinners and parties or personalized home-made meals Yūri brought to the team after a long morning of practice. An odd sense of peace invaded Yuri whenever he bit into one of the ridiculous tiger-stripped rice balls, but he didn’t allow it to settle for fear of having everything ripped away again. And he was right to do so, wasn’t he? 

One day, they would leave again without even looking back.

When Viktor released him, Yuri took a few steps back, pulled his hood over his head, and turned away to hide the embarrassment creeping up his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to be so tactless yesterday. I was just … _frustrated_ , I guess.”

Yuri’s throat constricted and his eyes stung. Shit. No. They weren’t going to talk about _that_. Viktor texted a soppy apology, case closed, back to skating. “Yeah. You fucking called me out in front of everyone.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers fidgeting with the soft lining as he threw a sidelong glance at Viktor. “Thanks for the memory.”

Viktor’s lips tightened a bit, though his smile didn’t entirely dissolve into a puddle of disappointment. Yet. Yuri was confident it wouldn’t take long. “You deserved it.”

Yuri _and_ Chris both deserved it, but he wasn’t going to pour his heart out in a pathetic show of weakness. “Yes, I deserved it. See? No need to be sorry.”

“Oh my god, stop pushing us away!”

Yuri jerked his head, green eyes meeting brown and locking. He glared, but the other man’s face hardened, matching him, so Yuri snarled, sure it would be enough to make him cower. “I am not pushing—”

“Yes, you are,” Yūri cut in, challenging in a way that caused Yuri’s stomach to drop and Viktor’s attention to flick between them as though he couldn’t decide which one of the two men needed his help the most. “Because you’re still angry with Vitya and me, aren’t you? Because we left.”

Yuri shuffled his feet and ducked his head, teeth clenched. “No, I’m—”

“Yes. You. Are. ‘ _Don’t you dare let me down again_ ’, that’s what you said yesterday.” Yuri swallowed convulsively, but his mouth was still too dry to even speak. So, he kept his eyes lowered. “Please, we care about you a lot,” the other continued, voice laced with a sadness that sounded genuine and probably was. “But we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us.”

A shiver took over Yuri’s body when Viktor rested a hand on his shoulder, long fingers squeezing and stroking a bit like he wanted to ease a burn. “I really regret what I said. Believe me, I don’t expect you to make the same sacrifices as me. It’s just that …” Viktor let out a sigh. “It’s hard to find the right partner, someone that will respect you as an athlete and help you to achieve your goals instead of asking you to choose between them or skating. I don’t want you to be hurt, that’s all.” A small pause. “Yurochka, look at me.”

 _Again_. Yuri gritted his teeth, but he was drawn to Viktor regardless. As soon as their eyes locked, his coach—friend? Family?—gently cupped his cheek, a fond look taking over his face. Yuri did his best to maintain his scowl. He really did, forcing his eyebrows to stay furrowed and all. But it slipped, and his shoulders sagged.

“I ... _we_ are here for you. You can trust us. Do you understand?” Yuri’s eyes burned. Ah, fuck. Why? Why were they so … they had no right to make him feel all squishy and soft inside, like he was about to melt into a pathetic, useless blob yearning for something he shouldn’t hope for. And yet, he gave Viktor a weak nod, which was welcomed with an encouraging smile. “Is there anything you want to tell us, then?”

“I …” His voice broke. No. He couldn’t. _Shouldn’t_ . Yuri licked his lips and tried again. “Thank you, but I’m _fine_.”

He looked away, biting his cheek, but it took a few more seconds of strengthening silence for Viktor to take his hand off Yuri’s face. He headed for the door with a sigh. A disappointed one, judging by his husband crestfallen look.

Yeah, they failed. Again. And, shit, winning hurt a lot this time.

Yuri stared at Viktor’s back and almost blurted out the things that weighed on him. _Almost_. But the words died on his tongue, leaving a bitter and ashy taste in his mouth.

It didn’t matter. Viktor and Yūri would never consider Otabek Altin, his competitor and rival, as a suitable partner for him.

_‘Leave your imagination in the locker room and stick to the prepared answers’_ was a piece of advice Yakov gave him a few months after his first Grand Prix gold as a senior. Yuri had snapped at a nosy journalist, which resulted in a disastrous article about the once-Russian fairy turned foul-mouthed brat. And since, the bad press never stopped, but shutting down his brain was an effective strategy to handle the easiest questions.

He should’ve done the same with Viktor and Katsudon earlier, preparing answers and sticking to them, but now it was too late, the rift was now a canyon none of them could cross.

 _What was his meal plan? Did he have any other dream career other than figure skating? What was he the most excited about in regards to the Worlds?_ They could’ve Googled that shit, but they liked wasting his time. There were a few questions he enjoyed, though. Like those about the last ‘weird’ food he tried (Guang Hong and Phichit offering chocolate cricket chips to everyone after the 2018 Grand Prix) or the coolest place he travelled (Barcelona, of course. Not so much because of the city itself but because of his first victory as a senior _and_ the friend he made).

Maybe Yuri wouldn’t dread interviews that much if journalists were happy just with that. They were always thirsty for more, though, and peace only came when they eventually switched to Sasha or Andrei.

It didn’t take long before Yuri’s mouth became dry from talking too much. He was glad they only got water to drink, though. Otherwise, he’d be too wasted not to trip on his feet and hurt himself. Unlike him, Viktor appeared overjoyed. Of course, Yuri didn’t buy it, knowing there was _more_ behind that cheerful mask, but Viktor’s charm was the only thing that could deflect an inquisitive journalist. They probably all wet their underwear just by hearing their name roll off the former champion’s seductive lips. Gross. He wished he had that talent.

As they were going through their sixth and final team interview, Yuri’s eyes started to wander, his leg bouncing. The middle-aged woman they were dealing with was from some French or Belgian sports magazine Yuri didn’t remember the name of, but she looked familiar, so she must’ve been around for a while. Maybe a former figure or pair skater herself. Not that Yuri really cared; she had been nothing less than a pain in the ass like all her peers, with the extra cherry on the top of prying even more to dig up some dirt. Cunt.

When she turned her predatory attention to sweet Andrei and Sasha, Yuri allowed his gaze to linger on the door of deliverance. His thoughts turned to his choreography, each move, each spin, each jump conjured in his mind with clarity. He could almost feel the cold air on his face and the music booming in his chest, which made him yearn for practice even more and regret he’d skipped the afternoon’s session the day before to sulk in his bed.

His own name cut through his thoughts, and Yuri crashed back into reality. It hurt more than missing a landing. 

“Excuse me?” Viktor asked, a look of surprise crossing his face.

“Aren’t you concerned about Yuri’s toxic behaviour? You were always so faultless, Viktor, and Andrei and Sasha are such good sports …”

What the fuck? Not that she was totally wrong, but … What the fuck? Yuri tensed. Andrei and Sasha exchanged nervous glances and hung their heads low when they caught him staring at them. Great, that was so helping. Yuri focused on Viktor instead, but Viktor’s attention was fixed on the journalist, a thin, forced smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the first crack in his cheerful mask.

“You seem to think I was better than Yuri at his age, or that Andrei and Sasha never voice their frustrations,” Viktor started with a tone so calm, yet so cold, Yuri quivered. “Allow me to remind you of something, then: figure skaters devote their formative years and sacrifice their health and life to the sport. Some of them even rely on government aid, prize money, and sponsors to provide for their family at an age where they should only worry about grades and love. Championships are both physically and mentally taxing, the stakes are huge as well, and everyone expects them to still demonstrate academic excellence too. So, _yes_ , sometimes they vent, sometimes they cry, as anyone would.”

The statement caused a weak smile to blossom over Yuri’s lips, and he relaxed a bit. It was enough to close the discussion, wasn’t it? Well, no. The audacity of that bitch was limitless. “But I’ve collected many accounts of Yuri cursing, showing disrespect to his competitors and teammates, including yesterday morning. And he also indulges himself in drinking and—”

“Do you have a question or just a list of accusations you read on Twitter?” Viktor’s voice and face darkened.

“Are you not concerned that Yuri’s behaviour will be detrimental to his career? Or even to those who made the _mistake_ of befriending him? Do you intend to overlook his antics and enable him as much as Mr Feltsman did?”

Fuck her! How dare she allude to Otabek and slander Yakov! Yuri gritted his teeth and was about to demand she take her damn voice recorder and shove it deep inside her tight ass, but Viktor’s hand fell on his. Though his eyes were still riveted to the journalist, he squeezed Yuri’s fingers, thumb brushing. As comforting warmth seeped into Yuri’s skin, he sucked in a breath to calm himself down. 

“As a coach, my role is to draw a line and ensure my students understand when they break it. My hope is that they will become functional adults who don’t harass people half their age.”

Yuri slightly opened his mouth, eyebrows arching. He’d expected a firm but courteous answer, not a burn. And although Viktor’s snark ignited sparks of joy in his chest, the nasty glare she shot them was nothing to be taken lightly.

More words were exchanged in French, Viktor’s hand never leaving his. One glance at a pallid Sasha told Yuri that they weren’t planning on talking more about it over a coffee. His teammate looked like he was about to shit himself, and Viktor hadn’t even raised his voice once. A charming smile was even back on his face. “Your fifteen minutes is up,” he eventually said, switching to English. “Now, if you’ll excuse us …” 

Viktor led them outside of the conference room, but stopped once they reached the lobby to pull a still shaking Sasha into a hug. The younger skater choked with a sob, and Yuri almost rolled his eyes.

“Don’t let her get into your head.” Viktor rubbed Sasha’s back. “Focus on practice. If anything, I am the one she’s going to tear apart now.” Viktor glanced at Andrei, then at Yuri, his gaze dwelling longer this time. A pang of guilt crept into Yuri’s heart and stole his breath. He did this. To Viktor. To the team. And Viktor didn’t let him down. He shouldn’t let them down either.

“Hey, Sasha. I can't stand seeing you struggle with your triple axel anymore. Let me help you today.”

Sasha’s misty eyes peered at Yuri and blinked at him in confusion. Oh, come on, he was _trying_! Yuri clenched his teeth, nasty words tingling on his tongue already. But Viktor gave him a smile and an appreciative nod, so Yuri settled for a click of his tongue. Peace offering. They’d better be happy.

“Otabek has really perfected his routines during the season. Let’s make a few changes to yours.”

Yuri stretched his back and nodded.

They’d reached the training rink early, which allowed them to watch their competitors before their group was called to perform. Yuri got the opportunity to cheer for Otabek this time. And now his heart was beating faster as he watched him sliding on the ice. Provided his boyfriend didn’t miss any of his jumps, he would snatch the gold medal from Yuri’s hands. Yuri had only lost to Viktor and Yūri since Barcelona. He should be annoyed but … he liked a challenge, it kept him on his toes and made everything more exciting.

When they were finally both off ice, they sat together to share snacks in a less crowded corner of the rink. It was their well-known ritual.

“You helped Sasha.”

Yuri smirked. “Oh, did I?”

Otabek looked contemplative and silence strengthened between them. Viktor glanced up at them from the first seats with a look of curiosity, but Chris came by and stole his attention when he looped an arm around him. His coach laughed at whatever stupidity Chris said, but then gazed at him with the same expression of concern he used with Yuri.

“I taught Katsudon how to land a quad Salchow.”

“Oh?”

“He was supposed to be my competitor, so it was so infuriating to see him fail.” Otabek rolled his eyes, and Yuri chewed on a slice of apple while appraising Phichit’s performance. The Thai skater was jumping and spinning as though gravity had relinquished all control over his body. And his hands … Shit. Did he make a blood pact with a demon? “He’s better than last year.”

“Yes. He’ll win silver for sure,” Otabek mused.

“What about you?” Yuri teased.

“What about _you_ , you mean?”

Yuri bumped Otabek’s shoulder with one fist. “You make it so hard to love you.”

He almost jumped out of his skin when someone—not Otabek—put his arm over his shoulder.

“Hey, whatcha doing, lovebirds?” JJ hugged them from behind, too close for comfort, and not just because, well, _JJ_. His cologne smelled so strongly, it’d repulse even the horniest cougars. Isabella shouldn’t have allowed him to leave the room stinking like Pepé Le Pew, she knew better. Unless … Did she want to discourage women from lusting after her husband? Good job, but Yuri still wrinkled his nose and leaned away. Fuck his life. he should've never said ‘hi’, now he was cursed.

“JJ,” Otabek said while looking straight ahead, eyebrows snapped together. “I think you should get ready, it’s your group’s turn.”

“Oh, right, right, right! But … Have I ever told you how cute and sweet you are together? You’re always sharing food and supporting each other like true soulmates!”

Yuri’s heart skipped a beat and his stomach twisted. What the …? How …? His eyes fell on Chris, still engrossed in his conversation with Viktor. No, that didn’t make sense. He said nothing to Viktor. So why would he speak to JJ? Phichit, then? But had Phichit ever done more than acknowledging JJ’s existence with a polite nod?

JJ continued to ramble, speech slurred, arms tightening around their shoulders like two aggressive snakes. “So, any wedding plans? You’ve been dating for, like, I don’t know, two years, three years? Since Barcelona? Don’t tell me you’re waiting for _ton chum_ to beat you or … or _j’sais pas quoi_. You should cherish what you have because you never know when—”

Yuri wriggled free and turned around on his seat to grab JJ’s face with one hand. The Canadian’s eyes widened in surprise, which didn’t deter Yuri. He pressed JJ’s cheeks together until his lips were puckered.

“Shut the fuck up, you idiot,” Yuri hissed between clenched teeth. “We’re not dating.”

“ _Mais_ —”

Yuri glared more. “We. Are. _Not_. Dating. Got it?”

JJ stared at him blankly, and Yuri summoned the small bits of French stuck in his head from listening to Sasha calling his dear _maman_ several times a day. “ _T’as compris?_ ”

This time, there was a spark of understanding in JJ’s eyes, quickly followed by a nod. Yuri released him with a sigh. Fucking finally. JJ’s bilingual brain must’ve been wired wrong this morning. Not that it was wired right usually …

“ _Oh, je vois, je vois_ .” JJ straightened up, a soft, _stupid_ smile spreading across his face. “But I still think you’re cute and sweet. That picture on your Insta? Too cute. Don’t listen to the haters.”

Yuri grabbed the backrest of his seat, knuckles turning white. He was about to climb it to smash the Canadian’s head, but Otabek’s hand clasped his wrist before it happened. “Do you really want to be disqualified because you’ve decked JJ?” he whispered in Russian, a dark look on his face. “Be good, Yura. He’s annoying but he can keep a secret.”

Yuri sat back, but JJ was still hovering there, eyebrows furrowed. His blood boiled again. “Jesus fucking Christ, JJ! Go kiss your fucking wife for good luck and join your fucking group before your fucking parents rip you a new one!” JJ paled and his smile vanished. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to say something, but he strode away without looking back. Yeah, good riddance. Relief couldn’t set in, though. Otabek’s eyes were pinned on the rink again, a dark scowl still creasing his face. “What?”

Otabek stole him a sideways glance, lips curled down. Great. Otabek never showed JJ any kindness, and yet Yuri made him angry. But what was he supposed to do? Let JJ blabber more? They were already lucky enough that no one had been around to hear that!

Yuri rested his elbows on his knees, head drooped forward, irritation curling deep in his chest. He stared daggers at JJ as he evolved on the ice and completed a series of warm-up laps around the rink, then a first jump, a simple toe loop that didn’t even look that good. What the fuck. Otabek’s sharp eyes were following JJ too.

“Isabella isn’t here.”

Yuri raised a brow, then shrugged. “Yeah? Probably still in bed or checking if she’s pregnant or something.”

Otabek’s scowl deepened. “I mean, she isn’t here _at all_. She didn’t come.”

 _So what_ , Yuri wanted to ask, but Otabek rose from his seat, hands balled into fists and face contorted with anger. No, not anger. Worry. “Beka, what—”

Someone yelped, and Yuri jerked his head in the direction of the rink. His eyes widened. JJ fell. JJ fell, and it didn’t look good because he was clutching his left ankle and failed at getting on his feet, even when someone lended him a hand.

Yuri stood up too and grabbed the backrest of the seat before him as he leaned forward. Numbness spread over his limbs and bile burned his throat.

He should’ve realised JJ was drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious non French speakers ...
> 
>  **Ton chum:** A boyfriend. Only use in Québec.  
>  **J’sais pas quoi:** "I don't know what", but very informal/casual, so maybe closer to "I dunno what".  
>  **Mais:** But.  
>  **Maman:** Mum. Quite easy.  
>  **T’as compris?:** Understood? (informal/casual too)  
>  **Oh, je vois:** I see.
> 
> Note that I'm not Québécois (Quebecers) so I won't pretend the way JJ speaks is 100% accurate. I'm from North France and my French is closer to the one spoke in that area and in Belgium.
> 
> **Viktor and Yūri are reaching out to Yuri, but he's not 100% ready yet to trust them. JJ hurt himself doing something not really JJ Style. And Otabek doesn't look very happy. Will it get worse or better?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae) again for beta reading this chapter (and everyone that helped me too). That fic wouldn't be as good without Taedae. All remaining errors are my own (or maybe Google Docs).
> 
> If you've been a silent reader until now, don't forget you can leave kudo or, if you're shy, even post a single emoji. Kudos and comments are the main fuel for us writers! :)

“JJ has withdrawn from the competition.”

“As expected.” Disappointment leaked through Viktor’s tone. “His ankle?”

“Sprained.” Chris sighed. “Alain said he’d just recovered from an injury. Doesn’t look good …”

They stepped aside, Georgi following to confer with them in hushed tones. Unable to hold back his curiosity, Yuri craned his neck and perked up his ears. But their conversation was drowned by the nervous and excited chatter filling the restaurant.

The championship would start the very next day with the pair skaters and ladies short programs. Aiming for another medal, Mila had excused herself to get a good night’s sleep. A wise choice.

While Yuri wouldn’t skate until Thursday, he didn’t plan on fucking it up again. Even off-ice, there was always something to do. Moping in his bed like a silly teenager pining for a boy out of his league wasn’t how an athlete won a competition. Everyone had stepped up their game to steal gold from him. Otabek and Phichit, in particular.

The day had been an eye-opening experience. While Otabek would never share Yuri’s _prima_ grace, his skating was smoother than it had ever been. As Viktor had noted, Otabek finally found the perfect balance between pure technicity and artistry, which may allow him to climb to first place, provided the Thai skater didn’t beat him to it first. Although Phichit had never struggled with elegance, he’d incorporated new tricks learned from Thai dancers into his routine and had the whole year to perfect them, competition after competition. The movements of his hands would put a lot of ballet dancers to shame and mesmerize the spectators and jury alike. Shit, even Chris talked to Viktor about making last-minute changes to his free program. Spite was a good fuel to outdo yourself. And unfortunately for Chris, Yuri didn’t lack this either.

Yuri’s gaze flicked through the restaurant as he took an angry bite of his apple, but nothing helped him suppress his growing irritation. Otabek was still missing; those damn Americans kidnapped him again two hours ago, maybe to brainwash him CIA style. His soul was shriveling in agony. A ‘yes’ meant a whole year without seeing each other in any championship. Absolute torture. It didn’t help that Otabek spent the whole afternoon being oddly silent. And, yes, it was a strange thing to say about someone as talkative as Otabek, but Yuri could tell when his boyfriend was distraught. No smile toyed at the corner of his lips. And now, there was not even a text on his phone to reassure him or break his heart for good.

His eyes were drawn to Leo and Guang Hong. They shared a small table near the corner Yuri had occupied with Chris the day before. Were they holding hands? Yuri tilted his head to have a better view. Yes, _yes_ , they were. Fingers entwined and palms pressed together. They didn’t hide, they didn’t keep it subtle, and they matched Viktor’s and Yūri’s disgusting fondness for each other. Assholes. No one should be allowed to be that happy when he was in so much pain. And yet, Yuri almost walked over to them to ask how they handled their long-distance relationship. But he didn’t out of fear of learning that ‘friends with benefits’ was the new trend. He needed … _more_.

“You okay?” Katsudon was staring at him, brows knitted together in worry. But before Yuri could say anything, he leaned forward, closing the space between them. “Is it JJ? The interview?” Small pause. “Something else?”

“Well, hm …” There was no way in hell Yuri would answer that, let alone near Sasha and Andrei, so he took another bite of his apple, feigning being deep in thought. If he was lucky—

“Yuri!”

They both snapped their heads up, but Yuri should’ve guessed Viktor was calling his husband over, not him. Katsudon offered Yuri an apologetic smile, to which he answered with an indignant humph. He wouldn’t admit he was relieved to not be grilled any longer.

As soon as Yūri joined the old men circle, Viktor stroked the small of his back and wrapped his arm around his waist to pull him closer. Andrei watched them with a dreamy expression and let out a small sigh. “I wish I could find someone like Viktor.”

“Well, people like Viktor don’t grow on trees.” It’d be a real nightmare otherwise.

Andrei glared at Yuri, parting his lips, ready to launch missile-like retorts.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Sasha chirped in, seemingly oblivious to the mounting tension between them.

Andrei turned his attention to him, but not without sparing a last scornful look at Yuri. “She’s always complaining that I’m too busy.”

“Oh …” Sasha furrowed his eyebrows. “I supposed it’d be easier if she was a skater too.”

 _Easier_ . Yuri turned away with a snort and leaned his chin on his hand. This time, his ears caught Viktor asking Chris if he was ‘sure’ and Chris saying the words ‘cheer up’, but he didn’t care, _not at all_. He didn’t give a fuck about Andrei’s girlfriend either. He crunched on the apple again, licking the sweet juice off his lips.

“Hm, and you, do you have someone, Yu—” Sasha paused to nibble his bottom lip. “Can I call you _Yura_?”

Oh, great, now that he’d shown Sasha how to not look like a moron on ice, he was promoted to ‘Yura’. “It’s complicated.” Andrei’s scowl was more than enough to betray his thought; Yuri was a textbook definition of ‘complicated’. But Sasha’s face turned so compassionate, Yuri shifted in his chair and averted his eyes. Was he the bad guy here? “We all have busy schedules, so dating might be even more difficult.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Sasha’s tone oozed sadness. Shit. A puppy. He was a fucking puppy. The runt of the litter, yes, but still a puppy. Urgh, no wonder poodle lover Viktor liked the younger skater so much.

Yuri got to his feet, attention drawn again to Leo’s and Guang Hong’s table, only to realise they’d left. His heart sank a bit. He could text, but—on a scale of one to ten, how awkward would it be to ask them for relationship advice? Yuri bit his cheek. Well, since they barely spoke to each other, it wouldn’t be just awkward. It would be a fucking disaster.

He stalked out of the buzzing restaurant, thrusting his hands into his hoodie’s pockets and curling his fingers against the heat. Would he see Otabek before he fell asleep? A better question, would Otabek spend the night in his room again? Or an even better question, would Otabek be in a better mood? As he waited for the elevator, foot tapping the floor, his fingers found his phone and fiddled with it.

“Yuri.”

Ah, shit. No, he wasn’t going to deal with this right now. Or ever. Refusing to face Chris, Yuri kept his eyes riveted on the shining numbers above him. Just a few more seconds, and—the elevator stopped on the 15th floor. Of course it did. Bitch! He barely refrained from kicking the door, but only because his toes were too precious.

“I’m sorry for yesterday. I—”

“Did Viktor send you?”

“He didn’t.” Chris sounded sincere, not that Yuri believed him, though. Of course Viktor sent him. They were always conspiring. “Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you and I regret acting like a fool. I stopped Phichit from teasing you only to do the same. Could we—”

“No.”

“ _I won’t do it again._ ”

It didn’t matter that Chris’s accent was off, Yuri still recognized the words. Not that it changed anything. He wasn’t the kind to be flattered because someone rehearsed some sentences in Russian. Gritting his teeth, he looked over his shoulder, ready to tell Chris to fuck off—Yuri froze. Chris’s eyes were clouded with obvious shame.

Maybe Viktor didn’t send him after all. Maybe Chris really wanted to apologise despite … Yuri gulped and focused on Chris’s white and red tracksuit instead of looking him in the face. “I hurt you too.”

Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “And I almost caused you to be kicked out of your team.”

“Is that why you said nothing to Viktor when he asked what happened?”

Chris tilted his head down, gaze pinned to the floor, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “No. I’m nosy, but I wouldn’t betray a friend’s secret.” A small, nervous chuckle escaped his throat. “And he didn’t ask. I told him it was my fault after you stormed out. He gave me a weird look, though.”

Yuri turned to face him properly and couldn’t help the smirk spreading on his lips. “He asked me if we’re fucking.” God, the way Chris’s eyes flicked up at him and widened was priceless. It was the look of someone picturing their own death already. Sweet revenge. Yuri let him simmer a bit, then snickered. “Don’t fret. I told him I’m not obsessed with your old ass like Phichit is, and I wouldn’t even touch you with a pole.” 

Chris blinked before rolling his eyes with a snort. “Ouch. Rude, kitten.”

“‘You’re right, Yuri’, you mean?”

“Yes, of course.” Chris gave him a sunny smile. “But just so you know, Phichit is also obsessed with my mind-blowing oral skills. What can I say? I’m a fluent linguist.”

Chris’s face was so innocent and pure it took Yuri much longer than it should have to wrinkle his nose and pretend he was gagging in fake outrage. “Ew. That’s way too much information. Does the word ‘boundaries’ ring a bell?”

The elevator came down with a _ting_ before Chris could answer. The doors slid open.

Delivrance was only two steps away, but Yuri couldn’t bring himself to leave despite the heat burning his cheeks. So he pressed a button to force the elevator to stay and glanced over his shoulder again, meeting the man’s eyes. So bright and warm, unlike the day before.

Yuri shuffled his feet, mouth as dry as sandpaper. What he wanted to ask got almost stuck in his throat. “You said you wouldn’t betray a friend. You really think of us as … _friends_?”

Chris’s eyes shone more. “Only if you want to be.”

A tiny spark of joy flared within Yuri, but it was soon engulfed by cold doubts, and his racing heart almost burst out of his chest. Pushing people away was so much easier. But did he really want to push Chris away? As annoying as Chris could be, he didn’t betray him. And when he wasn’t being irritating, it wasn’t too bad to talk with him. “I-I wouldn’t mind.” Done. Perfect, minus the stammering. Then his stupid mouth spurt out more stupid sounds. “And I’m sorry for saying you didn’t deserve to be here. You’re a good skater.”

“Aw, thank you, kitten. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. And probably to anyone who isn’t Otabek.”

When Chris winked and blew him a kiss, Yuri clenched his teeth. Of course the older man had to make it even more embarrassing. “Whatever.” He quickly stepped into the elevator and turned around in time to see Chris wave goodbye. Then the doors slid shut, allowing him to draw in a breath and lean back against the wall.

Oh, fuck! He couldn’t even identify the emotions rushing through and wrecking his self-control. Chris wasn’t a bad person, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt him later— _he already did_ . And now they were … _friends_? Shit. They both said it like children in kindergarten. They were friends. And Yuri relented, didn’t even try to fight it.

When his mouth stretched and did a weird curl up, Yuri glanced at the mirror hung on the lift’s back wall and—yep, he was grinning like a fucking idiot.

But his smile melted as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. Urgh. So much screaming he couldn’t understand except for a few words. Fuck those loud, always complaining French people! They would riot over someone not choosing the correct glass to savour—not drink, _s’il vous plaît_ , savoooouuuur—their wine. But when Alain and Nathalie Leroy exited one of the rooms, Yuri let out an even bigger groan of dismay. The door was slammed shut behind them. JJ, most likely.

Great! Yuri had just stepped into a Québécois minefield, a place far more dangerous than the swamp of Russian drama. Not that Nathalie had ever been anything but polite with him. But Alain had never hidden his hostility. Whenever his eyes landed on Yuri, they oozed disapproval, even more since that unforgettable night two years ago when Alain walked in on Yuri while he was _busy_ with another skater.

Well, okay, Yuri got where Alain’s disgust came from. But the coach had no business going into that conference room! And he ruined one hell of a good blowjob—the high note of a boring GP banquet.

Sensing that he’d keep Jesus company on his cross if he said anything, even a ‘ _bonsoir_ ’, Yuri got out of their way and only greeted them with a small nod. Nathalie nodded back while Alain, as expected, shot him a nasty glare. Yuri waited until they disappeared into the elevator, then strode in the direction of his room. He stopped midway, though, and faced JJ’s door, eyebrows knitting together.

JJ had always rubbed him the wrong way. But being forced to withdraw sucked, no matter the circumstances, and being told off by his coaches slash parents sucked even more. JJ wasn’t a monster, just an obnoxious bragging toad lacking self-awareness and unwilling to be left out of anything. Okay. That was _a lot_. Still, Yuri should make sure Alain and Nathalie didn’t disown their himbo son.

He knocked. “Hey, JJ, it’s Yuri. You okay?”

“Yuri?”

“Yes.”

Silence. It grew, lengthened, became too heavy. Okay. Got it. Yuri started walking away. He should’ve expected that. Then the door clicked open. “You can come in.” Oh, okay? Not awkward at all, JJ. Also, why? Yuri just wanted a simple answer. A ‘yes’, a ‘no’, even a refreshing ‘fuck off’, but not an invitation to witness at which stage of his emotional meltdown JJ was. But Yuri turned around, catching a glance of JJ before he disappeared inside the room. It was too late to flee. Besides, Plisetsky didn’t rhyme with cowardice.

Yuri stepped inside, eyes scanning his surroundings. A lonely bedside lamp leaked a dim light that couldn’t dispel the deep shadows lurking in the corners of the room. But it was still more than enough to take in the unmade bed and the expensive clothes cluttering the floor. He’d never pictured JJ as a messy dude, so he did a double take, eyebrows dipping. Pants, shirts, tracksuits … Canadian red and white boxer briefs. Ew, cursed.

JJ was sprawled in an armchair next to the large window overlooking the city. He was drinking, of course. Wine. Red. A lonely tray of cheeses had been placed in the middle of the small table, but it looked untouched, unlike one of the two bottles.

Yuri rubbed his forehead, sighing. Shit happens, and being drunk once in a while wasn’t much of a big deal. But being drunk twice in a day, including after a costly accident, was a career-ruining problem.

There was still time to mouth some platitudes and leave. But Yuri didn’t want to be that guy. So he grabbed the only other seat available, the chair of the small study area in front of the bed, and went to sit across the table from JJ. The Canadian didn’t look at him, though. He kept gazing through the window, shadowed eyes mirroring the city lights. 

“Do you want some wine? They brought two glasses.”

Yuri stared at the bottles. Shining gold monogram engraved on black. Classy. Pricey. JJ didn’t slur, didn’t stink of cologne either, so maybe he wasn’t totally wasted _yet_. “How’s your ankle?”

JJ took a sip of his glass, then pointed a finger down. Yuri leaned to look under the table; one of JJ’s bare feet was trapped in a support brace that didn’t totally hide the reddish bruises. “And in a few days, my hip will look like Starry Night.” JJ chuckled.

As Yuri sat up straight, JJ met his gaze for the first time and, ouch, did Yuri’s chest tighten at the sight. The Canadian’s smug smile didn’t reach his eyes. Not at all. A demon had ripped his soul out, and what remained was nothing more than an exhausted puppet. “That’s a lot,” Yuri whispered.

JJ shrugged. “Not my first injury this season, and I’ve been having growing pains since last Worlds anyway, so …”

Another shrug while Yuri struggled to find the right words. All he could think of was how he’d been making fun of JJ’s lackluster performances during the season. But in spite of his pain, JJ still qualified for the GP finals—albeit barely—won gold during the Canadian national championship, and met the requirements for the Worlds. He’d failed to collect more medals, but did it matter in the end? Was JJ such a bad skater? Yuri’s cheeks burned. If there was an asshole in this room, it was him. “I didn’t know.”

“No one was supposed to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you, though?” Yuri lifted his head, blinking. JJ was many things, but snappy wasn’t one of them. And while Yuri’s first instinct was to retort, he didn’t and shifted on his chair instead, crossing his arms. JJ’s lips curled down into a frown. “I know you don’t like me. No one does. So why are you here?”

A shard of guilt pierced Yuri’s heart. “I should’ve realised you were …” _Wasted_. “… not your normal self.”

“Yeah?” JJ shrugged a shoulder and emptied his glass in one gulp. “Sorry for worrying you, Yuri. I’m fine now.”

Right. JJ was _fine_. And he wasn’t drinking expensive red wine like a lonely and desperate middle-aged wife living in the suburbs. Ah, fuck it.

Yuri poured himself a glass, which was probably his worst idea since flying to Japan to confront Viktor. But it meant less wine in JJ’s system, so it was still helpful, wasn’t it? Yeah, totally. He breathed in, knocked the glass back, and grimaced when the bitter flavor lingered on his tongue.

JJ stared at him with a disapproving frown. “You’re supposed to savour it.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. It was less than half a glass. _You_ filled it to the brim and downed it like a vodka shot. How did you even manage that?”

Yuri humphed. Being good at swallowing was an answer only Chris or Viktor would find amusing. “The guy with a tramp stamp isn’t allowed to teach me lessons about etiquette. You aren’t even French anyway.”

“I have one quality at least.”

They retreated into an awkward silence again, and it was the strangest thing since JJ was usually good at spouting nonsense. Whoever was speaking with Yuri wasn’t the loud, arrogant, and competitive North-American. It was someone else. Someone more likeable, more relatable, somehow. Another human crumbling under the pressure of his insecurities.

Yuri sighed. “Where’s Isabella?”

“Ah, yes, about that …” JJ stared into space, the tip of one finger moving up to trace the rim of his glass. “She’s getting a divorce.”

Cold spread through Yuri’s chest and limbs. That was _not_ the answer he expected. He parted his lips slightly, but what was he supposed to say? Not ‘sorry’, that was a word someone who didn’t care would say. He … did care a bit. “But why?” Not much better.

And yet JJ filled their glasses instead of telling him to go to hell with his curiosity. “What can I say? She thought it was the right time for me to quit because of my health, I didn’t. She didn’t believe I could be at the top again, I wanted to try. She didn’t see the point of long studies, I didn’t want to stop with just a bachelor degree. She wanted kids now, I wanted to wait longer because I’m always busy. And so on and so on. In the end, she asked me to choose. So I did.”

JJ sounded so casual, he’d fool a lot of people, and maybe he had. Maybe the Leroys hadn’t even realised he was digging his own grave. But Yuri could spot a fake smile a mile away, and JJ’s smile? It was another ugly crack across a broken mask.

“I failed her.” JJ’s admission came as a shaky whisper. “I should’ve worked harder to keep her, but I just …” With a vague gesture, he looked through the window again, eyes vacant. “I should’ve quit.”

“Fuck no!” Blood pulsing in his temples, Yuri balled his fists and pushed his chair back. JJ’s widening eyes followed him as he stood up. “She knew what she was signing for, so stop drowning yourself in alcohol. The bitch fucking gave up on you!”

JJ’s eyes narrowed again, and he sent Yuri a warning glare. “Don’t call her a bitch.”

“I’ll call her a bitch as much as I want! Fuck her!” JJ opened his mouth again, eyebrows twitching, but Yuri was quicker. “I don’t even get it! She’s your greatest fan! I lost a bit of my hearing with how loud she squeals! And she can’t wait a few years?”

JJ ducked his head, and there were a few seconds where only Yuri’s furious breathing filled the room. Then JJ took a sip of his wine and let out a small, saddened sigh. “People change, Yuri. That’s all.”

“ _That’s all_?” Yuri cried out.

“Yes, that’s all,” JJ repeated, his tone bitter. “You could say we met young, married young, and drifted apart when our dreams didn’t align anymore. I was so obsessed with my career, I failed at making her happy. So she left.”

JJ’s words were like a punch in the chest. It broke Yuri’s ribs and crackled the vault where he’d locked his fears away for the night; they ran amok. And while Yuri fought back the sting taking over his eyes, there was nothing he could do against the cruel cold devouring him from the inside. “And what about _your_ happiness?” He hated how his voice cracked. He hated even more how JJ stared at him as though his question made no sense at all. “Don’t you like skating anymore?”

JJ lowered his eyes again with the crumpled face of someone who’d given up on his dreams already. “A man who can’t save his marriage doesn’t deserve to be here.”

“And did _she_ try to save it?”

“It’s not the same. I’m—I was her husband, I was supposed to—”

“Quit the bullshit already, Jean-Jacques!” A wave of pure rage swept over Yuri and crashed against whatever self-control he still had, shattering it. He kicked the table leg and then stomped toward the door, fists shaking. But after flinging open the panel so hard, it struck the wall, he was unable to move his feet forward. “You better be back next season or I swear, I’m gonna drag you onto a rink myself!”

“But—”

“You’re king JJ, goddammit! I want you to fight for first place like your life depends on it, like your victory could end world hunger!” Yuri glared daggers into JJ’s misty eyes. “So, are you gonna do it or not?”

JJ parted his lips, hesitant to speak. “I don’t know. I—Why are you—”

Yuri strode back to grab JJ’s chin before he could even finish. “‘ _I don’t know_ ’ isn’t very JJ style.” His grip tightened, nails digging. He didn’t care if it hurt. “I won’t accept your retirement for any other reason than health. Got it?”

JJ stared at him open-mouthed, face pale. Shit. Too aggressive. And what did Yuri even expect to achieve anyway? Save the day with a bold statement? JJ was already down the path of destruction. He couldn’t have both love and a career, and now he was left with nothing except a deep sense of self-hatred. There was no fire in JJ’s eyes, not even an ember waiting to be ignited again. And yet, Yuri released his grip with the odd sensation of having been burned to the bone.

Viktor was right; they couldn’t have _both_. No matter what, people always fucking left.

A buzz shook them both out of their shared silence. JJ pulled his phone out—Leo’s name flashed on the screen. That was Yuri’s cue to leave, and so did he, hurrying out, a chill running down his spine and limbs. The tips of his fingers were numb.

His room was only a few meters away, but each step was harder to take than the last. His stomach heaved, twisted. He shouldn’t be drawing comparisons, but he couldn’t stop his mind from racing with a thousand ‘what if’s and his heart from hammering and … He shivered, a familiar cold turning his legs to jelly. 

It wasn’t rage. It was anxiety devouring his guts.

Vision filling with white specks and ears buzzing, he wobbled to his bed and crashed onto it. Pulling the comforter over him and rolling into a ball did nothing to ease the overwhelming chill of bone fingers clawing, trying to tear him apart. Icy sweat trickled down his back.

He grabbed his phone and called. Words left his mouth. Of that he was certain. What he said, though … Everything was fuzzy, numb, with the exception of his throbbing chest. And his throat. So tight he could barely fill his lungs. Was he dying? Yes. He was. Cardiac arrest at only nineteen.

The mattress dipped. Soothing whispers reached him. Warm arms coiled around him, pulling him into a hug he didn’t try to fight. Then the same voice pierced the silence again. Slow. Rather deep. Anchoring. “Yura, it’s okay. You’re having a panic attack. It’s not the first time. It won’t last, and you can get through it again. I know it’s scary, but you’re not in danger.” Yuri weakly nodded. “Can you feel my breathing?” His hand was carefully placed on a chest slowly moving up and down. “Do you think you can breathe like this? Are you okay with this?” Yes, yes, he was. Yuri forced himself to breathe longer and deeper, struggling a lot at first, but he eventually managed, though it didn’t ease the sharp pain stabbing his heart through his back. “Very good, Yura. I’m proud of you. Now, can you tell me what Potya’s favourite spot is?”

“My pillow.”

“And where does she like being scratched the most?”

“The top of her head or behind her ears. It’s so soft.”

“Yes, it is. She’s soft like silk. Now, what’s your favourite food?”

“Katsudon fried pirozhki.”

“Why?”

“It … makes me happy.”

“We should make some when we’re back in Russia. Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

He opened his eyes to stare at Yūri’s worried face. His first instinct was to shove the other away and pretend they’d never been hugging on his bed. But the cold had receded, and he … didn’t really want to let go. “I called you?”

“You called _me_.” It didn’t matter that Viktor’s voice came as a whisper, Yuri still startled a bit and glanced around until he saw his coach sitting at the end of his bed. “But Yūri knows how to handle this better than me.” 

“Kinda used to it now.” Yūri’s smile got a bit sad, but he quickly collected himself. “Do you want us to leave?”

Yuri shook his head and snuggled closer. He was tough, but not _that_ tough. And has being tough actually ever helped him once? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Yūri stroked his back. “Do you need something?”

“No. I’m fi—” Yuri bit his bottom lip. No. It was a lie. Always had been. He wasn’t fine. Yuri swallowed hard and shut his eyes. A shiver took over his limbs again. “I’ve been dating Beka for five months now.”

That was it. He said it. And it didn’t alleviate the weight on his chest at all, not even when Yūri took his hand and gently squeezed it. Viktor let out a small sigh of … disappointment? Anger? Exhaustion? Maybe everything at the same time. Yuri couldn’t blame him. He was so high-maintenance, he’d probably hate working with himself too.

But then the mattress dipped again, and Viktor plopped down beside him. “It’s okay, Yurochka. I’m not surprised.”

“You’re _not_?” Yuri sat up so quickly, white dots filled his vision, leaving him dizzy again. Great.

“Well, I wasn’t sure you were dating, but …” Viktor gave a knowing smirk. “After your message last night, I was sure you were fu—”

“Oh my god, Vitya!” Yūri coughed and cleared his throat. “We waited for you to tell us yourself.” And by ‘we’, he probably meant ‘I’ because Viktor would’ve had no qualm asking.

Face as hot as molten lava, Yuri slouched back onto the bed and hugged the soft comforter to his chest, eyes pinned to the ceiling. “So, you’re not mad?”

Viktor didn’t try to stifle his chuckle. “Mad? We’re flattered you’re following in our footsteps.” What? The nerve!

“It’s totally different!” But Viktor just ruffled his hair, drawing another growl from him. “Don’t treat me like a child!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare. You have quite a reputation,” came Viktor’s amused answer. “So, is this just a fling again, or is it serious this time?”

Yuri’s jaw dropped. _Again? This time?_ Did Viktor keep track of all his hookups in a tiny notebook like a creep? Yuri barely swallowed back the curses tingling his tongue to press his face into the comforter, closing his eyes. “I’ve been in love with Beka for a while now, idiot. But—” A burst of anxiety shot through him, and he squeezed Yūri’s hand to keep himself grounded. “—it’s not like _you_.”

“Not like us?” Yūri repeated in a doubtful tone. “But you’re a perfect match.”

“Of course we are!” Yuri hissed between clenched teeth. “But we barely see each other, and I miss him every day, and …” Yuri peered over the comforter; they were both staring at him with rapt attention. Not helping. Yuri hid his face again, forcing himself to calm down, to gather his thoughts, but to no avail. Everything was all jumbled. “We wanted to go public at the beginning of the off-season to avoid more stress, but he might move to the States again, and I’m sure the journalists and our fans are gonna stalk our every move, and Chris says long-distance relationships don’t really work—”

“Yurochka—”

“—and _you_ also think it’s too hard for skaters to have relationships,” he added, trying to kick Viktor with his foot at the same time, “and then you were fighting with Yūri, and now JJ and Isabella are getting a divorce?! And, I don’t know, are Leo and Guang Hong gonna break up next or _you_?! And when our fans learn we’re dating, and the journalists, they’re gonna pry and write horrible things, and what if Beka believes them, or what if we change with the years? What I’m gonna do if—” Out of breath, Yuri was forced to pull the comforter away to get some much needed air. 

A mistake, again. Viktor and Yūri were gaping in shock.

“Oh, Yura.” The Japanese man sighed once he’d collected himself. “I’m really sorry we gave you that impression, but a disagreement isn’t enough to make us break up, okay? Did you talk with Otabek?” Yuri shook his head. “Did you even call him?”

Yuri blinked. “I-I don’t know? Maybe?” He curled into himself. “No. I don’t want to bother him.”

“ _Now_ I’d be mad if I were him.”

Yūri shot Viktor a warning glance before turning his attention back to Yuri, face softening again. “Should I call him for you then?”

“No, I should.” But Yuri didn’t. His body was as heavy as lead, and while he wanted to hear Otabek’s voice, he couldn’t bring himself to reach for his phone. That was how it started. Annoying phone calls. His boyfriend was busy, he shouldn’t.

“Hey …” Viktor leaned over him and cupped his face with one hand, eyes full of concern. “We got you. We can find ways for you to spend more time together. Okay?”

“Okay.” Eyes burning, Yuri wrapped an arm around Viktor’s neck to pull him into a shy hug, but a hug nonetheless. His heart raced, doubt and fear clinging to him, whispering that it was just an empty promise. And yet, he summoned the courage to take another step, a bigger and more significant one. “Okay. Thank you, _Vitya_.”

When Viktor’s eyes grew wide, Yuri tensed. But once the surprise passed, the former skater beamed at him and hugged him back.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and as a warm sense of security settled into Yuri’s chest, he nodded off. Then the door clicked open, jerking him awake.

He sat up, lids fluttering, ready to bark to whoever entered to go fuck themselves with a hockey stick. But all the air left his lungs when his eyes fell on Otabek.

His boyfriend hovered in the doorway, hair and leather jacket glistening with rain or molten snow, breath shallow, and cheeks slightly flushed. His sharp eyes darted between the three of them, assessing the situation, but his face remained impassive, even when Viktor, still sitting on the bed, smirked. 

“Do you often run into your rivals’ bedroom without knocking first, Otabek Altin?”

Far from being impressed, the Kazakh threw Viktor a dark, challenging look that made Yuri grow hot everywhere, but in particular between his legs. “Only Yuri’s.” _Damn_ . Way to go, Beka. Yuri had never felt so claimed and had never gone so quickly from worried to horny either. He tried to order everyone to leave _now_ —except Otabek, of course— but the words turned into a needy, embarrassing whine.

Yūri stole him a knowing and sympathetic glance before turning his attention back to Otabek. “It’s okay, Yura told us. We’re happy for you.”

“And not surprised, I must add,” Viktor cooed, a stupid grin breaking across his face. When Otabek’s lips pressed into an even tighter line, he leaned in to _not_ whisper in his husband’s ear. “Do you think he wants us to leave?”

Before Yuri could summon the energy to scream at the top of his lungs that, _yes_ , they should get the fuck out of his room already, Yūri hopped to his feet. “He does, Vitya. _They_ do.” And he forced a reluctant Viktor to get up, dragging him by the hand to the door. Bless that man. He deserved all the katsudon fried pirozhki that Yuri could cook in one evening. 

Viktor and his diet plan could go fuck themselves while they’d enjoy the best high calorie food ever.

Otabek stepped aside, and Yūri offered him a bow of apology, which Otabek surprisingly mirrored with the most subtle ghost of a smile. However, the Kazakh was quick to scowl again when Viktor freed himself from his husband’s grip to pull him into a tight hug. God, some people had no survival instinct. But Otabek endured, even when Viktor patted him on the back and murmured a few words into his ear before he let go. Yūri looked like a part of him just died—probably his sanity—and Otabek glared back, brows snapped together. 

“That’s _not_ my intent.”

“Good. Only do things I would do too, then.”

“Like taking a one-year break and flying to Japan?” Yūri asked while gently herding Viktor through the doorway.

“Of course not! My advice was more couple related, like—”

“I’m sure absolutely _no one_ wants to hear that, Vitya.”

“Chris would.”

“Chris isn’t here.”

Their bicker faded when Otabek locked the door behind them. Thank fuck.

Yuri scooted closer to the edge of the bed, but Otabek’s cool hands were on each side of his face before he could speak. Not that he even got the chance to, anyway. Lips were pressed against his. They were cold like snow too, but the sensation quickly faded into the hungry and desperate kiss Otabek gave him. And Yuri opened his mouth, wanting nothing more than to drown in the heat of his boyfriend.

When they broke off to catch their breath, gazing into each other’s eyes, his heart ached a bit. “I’m sorry for telling them without asking you first.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I came back as fast as I could.”

Yuri threaded his fingers through Otabek’s wet hair, a strange mix of joy and anxiety bubbling in his chest. “So I called you too?” Otabek just grunted back. “But what about the Ameri—” His words turned into a low moan when his mouth was captured in another deep kiss. Fine. He could wait a bit longer. But only because Otabek’s tongue was driving him crazy.

A traitorous heat pooled low in his belly again. They were supposed to talk. They had to. But he wasn’t sure they would if they kept kissing and grabbing each other like that. Otabek shrugged off his jacket and straddled his lap. Yuri’s hands found their way to his perfect abs. When they broke apart, they were both equally panting.

Otabek placed his hand on the back of Yuri’s head and wound his fingers into his hair. Yuri licked his lips in anticipation, awaiting to again be pulled into another hot kiss, but it didn’t happen. “I declined their offer.”

Yuri blinked, confused, but when the words sank in, his stomach churned. “Oh.” Way to kill a boner. He should be happy, relieved. But he wasn’t. “Is it …” His voice wavered. “Is it because of _me_?”

“No.” Otabek bit his bottom lip with an angry frown. Too late. Yuri’s eyes filled with burning tears that he didn’t understand himself. It was the answer he wanted to hear, he didn’t want to be the one depriving Otabek of an opportunity, but it still broke his heart. Otabek let out a throaty sigh. “It was tempting, but money can’t replace the pride of winning for my country. My life is in Kazakhstan.” He brushed his thumbs over Yuri’s wet cheeks. “Close to where my heart is, in Russia.”

Yuri drew in a shaky breath and wrapped his arms around Otabek. They both toppled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. The weight of Otabek's body was soothing, grounding, but it wasn’t enough to wash out all Yuri’s fears, and tears brimmed over again. “I’m scared it won’t work.”

“Why?”

So Yuri told Otabek why, face hidden in the crook of his neck because he couldn’t bring himself to meet Otabek’s eyes. He talked about Chris, Viktor, JJ. He talked even more than he had earlier, pouring everything out, years of doubts he couldn’t hide behind a wall of hostility anymore. His mother started it, but everyone would eventually abandon him, even his grandpa the day he’d eventually pass away. So why should he believe that Otabek wouldn’t, too? It didn’t matter if it was because of their busy schedule or their rivalry as figure skaters or their fans or fucking whatnots. At some point, they’d drift apart and break up.

When he finished word-vomiting, Yuri fell silent, curling even more against Otabek’s strong chest as exhaustion collected its due. The Kazakh was silent too, and Yuri didn’t know what to make of it, if Otabek needed time to gather his thoughts or if he was already tired of him. 

“Yura. Look at me.” Yuri tensed, but still tilted his head up to meet Otabek’s so-warm eyes. Joy and reassurance bubbled in his chest, and he laced his fingers behind his boyfriend’s neck, daring to press a quick kiss on his smiling lips. “We’re _not_ them,” Otabek whispered, hands squeezing Yuri’s hips and then moving up. “I waited years just for a chance to be your friend. I never dared to hope you’d date me, and yet you did. Do you really think I won’t fight for us to my last breath?” Otabek’s face hardened. “Because I will. Will you too?”

Yuri’s breath hitched when Otabek cupped his face. “Yes, I will.”

Otabek pressed their foreheads together. And for a few precious seconds, there was nothing else but the relaxing sound of their breath and the pressure of Otabek’s body against his, the touch of his hands through his clothes.

“I was upset too,” Otabek admitted in a low voice. “Not as much as you, but still upset.” Yuri lifted his eyelids and looked at Otabek’s frowning face. “When you said to JJ that we weren’t dating, I thought that maybe you didn’t want _anyone_ to know.”

Yuri parted his lips, mouth drying. What? “But you said you didn’t care for going public.”

“I care about our families and friends. So I wondered if you really wanted to tell them.”

“I’m sorry.” Yuri swallowed hard. “I was just worried JJ would blab to everyone.”

“I know.” A soft smile flickered across Otabek’s face. “You proved me wrong.”

Yuri chuckled weakly. “Don’t be too happy, Viktor can be exhausting. What did he tell you, by the way?”

“That he’s very happy for us and can’t wait to have us over for diners. And that he’ll drown me in lake Ladoga if I break your heart.”

Otabek looked so serious, Yuri didn’t doubt him. He clasped a hand around his boyfriend’s bicep. Not that he really needed a reminder; he was dating a god. “Well, we can’t blame him for not being optimistic?”

Otabek grunted in agreement, then cupped Yuri’s cheek with one hand and bore his eyes into Yuri’s, leaving him breathless. “No more keeping your feelings to yourself.”

“No more.”

“And we will tell our families soon.”

“We can call them tomorrow. Yours first.”

“Yes.” A smile played on Otabek’s lips. Most people would find it small, shy even, but for Yuri, it was more radiant than the sun. “And you won’t try to win your umpteenth gold medal.”

“I won’t—hey!” Yuri bumped Otabek’s chest with his fist. “Not fair.”

“Very fair.”

Yuri opened his mouth to protest again, but Otabek sealed their lips together before he could even utter a word. It didn’t take long before he melted into the kiss.

He might not know what the future had in store for them, but right now, he couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All's well that ends well. For some people at least. Stay tuned for an epilogue next week, and more stories in the coming months! We can't leave JJ suffering like this, can we?** _(who said 'yes, we can'? That's not very JJ style, my friend! NOT AT ALL. Drink more sirop d'érable)_ **And _someone_ has ordered a Las Vegas wedding for Beka and Yura. I'm not a monster. OF COURSE I PLAN TO WRITE IT**


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae) helped me a lot. She's amazing.

Yuri wasn’t used to looking up at someone while standing on the podium anymore, but as he glanced at Otabek who was staring sternly at the cameras, jaw locked, as though he was angry about his victory, Yuri smiled.

It didn’t happen because of a mistake Yuri made. His performance had been nothing but perfect, despite his meltdown two days ago. It happened because Otabek had just been _better_. And while Yuri had been devastated in the kiss and cry when reality hit him, he would’ve been a fucking moron to not be proud of Otabek. His boyfriend beat the defending champion and was making history, for himself and for Kazakhstan. Sure, Yuri had dreamed of continuing his winning-streak, but he’d done nothing to be ashamed of in the rink, and Otabek looked so good with gold around his neck, Yuri wanted to pull him down for a kiss.

Later in the hotel lobby, still buzzing with activity, Phichit embraced them in turn. And despite his hatred for forced hugs, Yuri didn’t shove the Thai skater away. The display of affection didn’t stop here, though. Phichit clasped his hands over his shoulders and stared him straight in the eyes, a look of worry creasing his tired face. Weird. Shouldn’t his rival be sad for himself?

“How do you feel?”

Yuri moisted his lips, hesitant. The moment he’d gripped Viktor’s and Yūri’s jackets and cried in their arms came to haunt him. But the painful memory was quickly erased by the look of incredulity that briefly took over Otabek’s face when he realised he’d return to his country with his first Worlds gold medal. And a well-deserved one. Yuri’s heart warmed, and his mouth spread into a grin as he stole a glance at an attentive Otabek. “Good, actually. You?”

Phichit beamed at him. “A-ma-zing! My phone won’t stop blowing up! Everyone is going crazy over my SNS, and I’m getting so many new followers from Western countries, wow! Do you realise I was actually _this_ close to beating you both?” Phichit gave him a small nudge. “Do you?” Yes, Yuri did. A starry-eyed Phichit had spent a good part of the small medal ceremony chatting about his hamsters and _that_.

“Maybe next year you will.” Otabek raised his thumb. “ _Davai_.”

Davai-ing their rival instead of him, so rude! But kinda cool and sexy too. Yuri still elbowed Otabek in the ribs and narrowed his eyes for good measure. But his boyfriend didn’t budge a muscle and even had the audacity to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Only the tiniest smirk slipped across his face, and Yuri slightly licked his lips. Exhibition or not, he was going to wreck that man tonight.

Phichit’s squeal pulled Yuri from his fantasies. Goddammit! He glared as Chris looped an arm around his not-boyfriend’s waist. Chris’s innocent smile could’ve fooled Yuri if Phichit’s face hadn’t been so flushed and his eyes unfocussed. Someone got his ass grabbed in public and wasn’t even mad about it. Not that the public cared anyway; Viktor was busy making out with his husband next to the reception desk, which lured more attention than the winners had received until now. Okay, maybe not, but they should be arrested for being gross during others’ triumphs.

Wrinkling his nose, Yuri glanced back at Chris and Phichit. The older man nuzzled Phichit’s hair and pressed a swift but affectionate kiss on the top of his head. “Congratulations for your medal and your followers, _chéri_.”

“Thank you!”

“Tsk, and what about us? You’re such a bad friend.”

Chris’s eyes flicked to Yuri with a spark of amusement. “Oh, kitten, your scores were so ridiculously close, they should’ve made you share that gold medal and given silver to Phichit and bronze to Emil. Or maybe even gold to Phichit too and—”

“ _Never_. I don’t share,” Yuri growled, hand clutching the silver hanging around his neck.

“Maybe you should try, it opens up so many interesting possibilities,” Chris purred.

Despite being engrossed in his phone, Phichit cackled as though Chris cracked the funniest joke ever. Yuri narrowed his eyes at them, but his brain stuttered like an asshole, leaving him at loss for words.

Chris winked. “Can’t find a good comeback?”

Yuri snapped his mouth shut and straightened up with a glare. “I was too busy swallowing back bile.”

Judging by his lopsided smile, Chris was about to comment, but—thank God—Phichit grabbed his attention again. “Oh, let’s take a group selfie!” Yuri stiffened, but would Phichit wait for his assentiment? No. Teeth shining like a shark in the middle of a shoal of fish, he started waving, shouting orders, and making a few—no, several—phone calls. It was past 11pm, for god sake! “Ciao Ciao, Yūri, Viktor, come here! _Hiiiiii_ , Guanghong! Get dressed and bring your ass and Leo’s to the lobby for a commemorative selfie! And be cute, I only take pictures of cute peo—Seung-Gil, where are you going? You know you want it!”

Phichit summoned a selfie stick from the influencers’ dark realm, and Yuri eventually ended up squashed in the middle of dozens exhausted but enthusiastic skaters and coaches—minus a stone-faced Otabek and a disgruntled Seung-Gil. If Yuri stepped on a few toes, it was entirely on purpose. But when Otabek casually draped an arm around his shoulders, bringing him closer to him and saving him from a kiss-blowing Chris, Yuri stopped puffing his cheeks and attempted a more cheerful smile.

“I still can’t believe you _really_ sabotaged your free skate.” Viktor sighed once Phichit’s selfie spree was over and most people had scattered or run away to hide in their room.

“Yes, what about that?” Yūri asked with a look of concern for Chris. “Vitya told me you were considering it, but won’t your federation kick you out?”

A charming smile spread over Chris’s face. “It’s not like I was going to win, so why not do something memorable for my last Worlds?”

Yuri almost choked. “Something memorable?” he snarled. “You got deductions for doing backflips and lying half-naked on the ice! And stripping! What was that? Sultry on ice?” Viktor and Chris exchanged conniving glances, but what really made Yuri lose it was the approving nod Otabek gave to the Swiss skater. “Jeez, don’t encourage him! And _you_ —” He thrust a finger at Viktor, who pointed at himself too with a look of fake surprise. “I can’t believe you helped him!”

Viktor let out an exaggerated sigh. “I didn’t help him, we just talked. Josef was the one who helped.”

“Don’t be jealous, kitten,” Chris cut in with a tone as soft as honey. “It’s quite hard to top me, but I believe in you.”

“Oh my god,” Yūri uttered, which brought absolutely _nothing_ to the discussion, so Yuri scowled at him before staring Chris down.

“Why would I even try? Did you see the judges’ faces?”

“Sorry.” Chris batted his long eyelashes, fingers playing along the back of a still phone-obsessed Phichit. “I was too busy listening to the public going wild.”

“Something died in them, Chris! I swear!”

“Of course it did. But don’t kink shame them.”

Yuri gritted his teeth, his frustration quickly growing and threatening to crash against them like a tsunami. But Otabek _and_ Viktor both put a hand on his shoulders.

“So.” Otabek gave Chris a pointed, almost menacing look. “Did you switch your free skate program with your exhibition one?”

Chris nodded and parted his lips to speak, but Phichit looked at them over his phone. “Oh, sweeties, you’re not ready for our _actual_ exhibition.”

Phichit’s smirk made Yuri’s blood boil again. He clenched his fist, jaw jutting and chest puffing. The sheer arrogance! No one was allowed to outshine Otabek and him! Yes, they never said they would skate together for their exhibition, but now they _had_ to.

Yuri was about to drag Otabek to the elevators when Chris’s previous words registered. He turned his attention to the man again, mouth going dry. “Wait, your ‘ _last_ Worlds’? What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to keep up with young athletes.”

“Are you … _retiring_? You can’t retire! Your spins are still good!” Even if Yuri managed to school his features into an expression of indifference, he couldn’t stop surprise from colouring his voice with high-pitch notes. Fuck, he hated that!

But instead of answering him, Chris gave an almost sad look and then wrapped his arms around Phichit’s waist, pressing himself against his back to kiss the curve of his neck. “Speaking of the exhibition, we should go over our routine one last time.”

“Only _one_ last time?” Phichit asked with a coy smile as he finally pocketed his phone.

Yuri balled his hands and stomped his foot with a ‘Chris!’, but the couple was already strolling toward the elevators without a care in the world.

“He’s not retiring, Yurochka,” came Viktor’s voice. “But they might ‘encourage’ him to to keep the competitions family-friendly, and even if they don’t, he might not meet the requirements to qualify next year. Are you angry?”

Yuri glared more, but in the end, he hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. “What’s the point of becoming friends if he’s not here anymore?”

“He’s not dead, Yura,” Otabek said, placing a hand to the middle of his back. “You can text or call or even visit him.”

“And I’m sure you’ll see him around a lot anyway. Chris isn’t the kind of man to just humbly retire and fade away.”

“You aren’t either,” Yūri noted before planting a gentle kiss on his husband’s lips.

They gazed at each other so fondly, Yuri feared they would start to make out in the middle of the lobby again. But Viktor’s arms snaked around his and Otabek’s shoulders instead.

“Yurochka, Beka. Again, I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Viktor?” Otabek said with a confused lift of his eyebrows.

“Please, call me Vitya. After all, I’m your coach-in-law now.” Yuri opened his mouth wide. His _what_ ? “I could even adopt you.” _What?_

“No disrespect, Vitya, but I don’t think we are a good match. Besides, training in Almaty has brought me luck until now.”

Viktor released them and dramatically pressed a hand on his forehead. “And here I thought you’d be flattered.”

“I am.” Otabek gave him a small but genuine smile. “Goodnight.”

When Otabek tugged on his sleeve, Yuri started slightly. His eyes were drawn to him, then to the gold medal still hanging around his neck, then to Otabek’s face again, meeting his piercing gaze and the desire darkening it. His breath slightly stuttered and he mumbled a ‘goodnight’ before dragging his boyfriend to the elevators. Not that Otabek really needed to be dragged there. And it was, in fact, a miracle they made it to Otabek’s room with all their clothes on. They didn’t keep them for long, though.

Yuri wrapped the ribbon of Otabek’s medal around his fist and yanked his boyfriend into a kiss, nibbling and sucking. It was nowhere enough to satisfy their thirst, and it took only a few seconds for Otabek to part Yuri’s lips with his tongue, one hand cradling the back of Yuri’s neck, the other kneading his ass almost roughly.

When the back of Yuri’s legs hit the edge of the bed, he toppled on it willingly, spread-eagle on the sheets. Otabek stilled to rake his gaze over Yuri’s offered body, and although Yuri was used to being desired, more heat coiled in his belly and pooled low between his thighs, making his cock throb. The way Otabek’s eyes always lit up with both genuine adoration and dark hunger was more enticing than his naked body.

Otabek slid between his legs, stealing his lips and pressed him into the bed, the cold medal slowly warming against their chests.

Yuri couldn’t stifle a moan when a hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back. Such a simple gesture, and yet, it always fueled his desire. When they broke their kiss, equally panting, he was squirming with the embarrassing need to beg for more. But Yuri Plisetsky never begged.

He hooked a leg around Otabek’s waist, bringing him closer to roll his hips against his. But instead of grinding back, Otabek stilled him with firm hands and trailed kisses across Yuri’s neck. He was slow. So slow, Yuri was going to smack his boyfriend if he didn’t speed up the pace. But he had another idea. A better idea.

Otabek might’ve been bulkier than him, but Yuri was still an athlete. It wasn’t too hard to roll Otabek over and straddle him, trapping him between his thighs. Not that the Kazakh seemed to mind; he grabbed Yuri’s hips, thumbs rubbing, a small smile clinging to his lips. But what really made Yuri shiver and his breath hitch was the intensity of Otabek’s eyes tracing his body. Their fire devoured his skin and almost left him quivering.

“Admit it, Beka, it’s a better gift than the sponsors’ ones.”

“Yes.” Otabek’s hands moved up and down along his belly, heating his flesh with each stroke. “But what about the exhibition?”

Yuri bent down, fingers threading into Otabek’s hair, eliciting an appreciative hum. “I can wreck you tonight and wreck everyone else tomorrow too.”

“How?”

Yuri traced the strong curve of Otabek jawline with a grin. “It’s time to enact Welcome To The Madness, B-side.”

“I thought we were keeping that one in case Viktor and Yūri were sappy on ice again.”

“Not anymore. Now stop talking.”

But Otabek grabbed Yuri’s chin in one hand and his wrist with the other. “Stop talking, _please_.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yuri growled back.

“Do you really want to steal the spotlight from Phichit and Chris?”

Yuri scowled. His boyfriend really had no bed etiquette. “And _you_ , do you really want to talk about them when I’m ready to ride your dick until you beg for me to make you come?”

Otabek cupped Yuri’s cheek, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I love you, but I don’t think I’ll be the one begging tonight, Yura.”

Yuri clenched his jaw, a spark of anger curling in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t spread, though. Otabek pressed him down against his chest and crushed their mouths together, teeth grasping Yuri’s bottom lip before he claimed his mouth.

When they eventually surrendered to their exhaustion in the early morning, Yuri had made two important discoveries. First, that he was totally capable of begging if it was Otabek—and that he liked it more than he would ever admit to anyone. But, more importantly, he totally screwed up. There was no way in hell he could skate as well as he should for his exhibition, and Viktor would most likely remind him _why_ every day of the coming months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned Chris's surprise free skate back when I was writing chapter 2. After searching what 'scandalous' thing Chris could do to get everyone's attention on him, I was inspired by Surya Bonaly's famous backflip in Nagano AND the ISU's list of illegal moves. According to the handbooks and rules I downloaded, Chris got huge deductions and, thus, didn't score high.
> 
> BTW, if you don't know who is Surya Bonaly, a black figure skater from France, I really invite you to read [this](https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/sports/wp/2018/02/22/twenty-years-later-figure-skatings-most-famous-backflip-remains-amazing-and-illegal/) and [this](https://www.olympicchannel.com/en/stories/features/detail/surya-bonaly-backflips-figure-skating-fashion-discrimination/). She was born to make history too.
> 
>  **I hope you liked the story as much as I liked writing it.** <3


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